


And what would we do, given a fresh sky?

by Teland



Series: an enlightenment of night [1]
Category: DCU (Comics), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Backstory, Biting, Blood Drinking, F/M, Families of Choice, First Time, Genital Torture, Happy Ending, Humor, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, M/M, Magic, Mating, Parent-Child Incest, Polyamory, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Telepathy, Vaginal Fingering, Werewolf Mates, child prostitution, courting, polyamory negotiation, soulbond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 04:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13356924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: What do you suppose *is* a proper bride price for a partially-trained courtesan-mage?





	1. To be honest, he doesn't even brush his teeth without cursed weaponry to hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: Not mine, except for what is. 
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: Vague and AU-ized mentions of canon through S3. Takes place pre-series. 
> 
> Author's Note: Pixie and I were talking about what sort of story she would like for a gift, since I wanted to get an early start on being *able* to write something for her, and she brought up the fact that I'd never written a mating/soulbond story where the mated characters shared a mind/soul/ability to communicate *before* they had the chance to meet. 
> 
> This story basically exploded out of me. 
> 
> Acknowledgments: Much love and abject gratitude to Pixie, Melly, Spice, Houndstar, Liz, and, of course, my Jack, for audiencing, encouragement, helpful suggestions, course corrections, whining-writer-wrangling, and general awesomeness above and beyond the call of duty. 
> 
> Thank you.

To be honest, he doesn't even brush his teeth without cursed weaponry to hand. 

Jason doesn't dream. 

Jason doesn't *sleep*, which is why, when he closes his eyes for a moment's rest away from Yrrxx's dense and not especially poetic prose about the Fair Folk Wars on his sphere, he was not expecting... 

Well, he wasn't expecting *anything*, but he definitely wasn't expecting... does he want to call it a *vision*?

There was a woman — 

A beautiful woman with long, thick auburn hair falling in waves past her shoulders; bright, intelligent blue eyes; a subtly-painted and obviously *soft* mouth; and an obviously-graceful body dressed in silks that had to have cost at least *somewhat* more than the furnishings of the room she was inhabiting. 

She was smiling acquisitively at *him*. And beckoning *curtly*.

There was no sense of danger or urgency — if anything, Jason had felt, for a moment, distressingly *safe* — and... 

And he isn't *certain*. 

That was *new*. 

He wracks his mind, but the woman doesn't resemble anyone in particular that *he* knows. And that room... 

Those silks... 

No, the two don't *quite* go together. If the women is a courtesan, she has most *assuredly* come down in the world. Call her a whore with fine tastes — and an office of her own, considering her proprietary air and *comfort* in that place. 

So. *Was* she beckoning *him*? Or someone else? Whose eyes was Jason looking *through*?

He checks himself — belatedly — for other people's workings and *unfamiliar* curses — and finds nothing. 

He checks his *home* for the same — nothing. 

He thins the wall between Etrigan and himself — 

_Yes, I saw it, too,_ Etrigan says, in the rasp and *pressure* of dangerously overheated stone. 

Do you know which of us it was aimed at...?

_I haven't the faintest idea. Though..._

Yes...? 

_She really isn't my type._

Arse.

_The child she was beckoning *might* be delicious, though._

Child — you saw — 

_A glimpse of their right hand. From the shape and size relative to the wrist, I would say a young male adolescent._

Hm. 

_Yes...?_

I am only wishing we were given *scents*, my companion. 

_Yes, that would've been helpful. My sense of colour isn't good enough to be able to tell you whether or not the boy and the woman have the same skin-tones._

Mm. It's *possible* that the boy is the woman's *client*. 

_It's good to know that I can always trust your mind to remain firmly in the gutter, Blood._

I wouldn't want to become dangerously unpredictable — 

_Never that. Will you blink again?_

I'm going to *have* to *eventually*.

_Yes, yes. Will you blink without arming and *armouring* yourself._

Of *course* not. 

_Excellent. I'll be watching._

Thank you *very* much, my companion, Jason says, then stands, arms and armours himself in his most *virulent* mail — 

And blinks. 

Nothing happens.

Jason narrows his eyes — 

Considers —

Jason firms his grip on his bastard sword and *closes* his eyes. 

For a count of ten. 

In which nothing happens. 

Jason opens his eyes and growls. 

_I didn't think she was *that* attractive to you, Blood._

I — 

_Or were you just that bored with the Yrrxx._

Jason licks his lips — 

Glances at the dusty, mouldering tome which really ought to have been *left* to moulder — 

And sighs. 

_You're still going to restore the thing to near-pristine condition and give it a place of honour in one of your libraries._

Shut it, Jason says, and sits, and reads.


	2. You never know when skills will come in handy.

Jason beheads the shade on his left, and lets his swing carry him into a solid hack into the leg of the shade on his right. The shades which were behind him are ashes and leftover screams —

And suddenly he's reading a book about medicinal plants. 

In *Arabic*. 

He is, of course, *not* reading that book — though he owns it, and loves it *well* — 

He — 

He knows the feel of life behind those eyes — 

He knows — 

And the book is falling to the cobbles — 

The boy — and he is a boy — is standing and staggering back — 

But from what — oh. 

Oh, *hells*. There's still a bloody *shade* somewhere — 

But the way the boy is staring *strongly* suggests that the shade is right... over... there. 

Jason swings — hopefully not too terribly clumsily — 

The scream is just as terrible as it should be, but it doesn't sound like the *end* of undeath, as opposed to like the continuation of eldritch suffering. Right, swing again, and he is *grateful* for every *bit* of horrid experience that has *taught* him how to fight blind, how to take the flinches of others — 

Including the innocent he is — he is *riding* —

The way he is *staring* *fixedly* — 

Ah, but there is a blade in his hand — 

He will call attention to himself if Jason doesn't hurry — 

The next brutal swing cuts the screaming *right* off, and Jason hacks a few more times just to be sure — 

And realizes that he's hard. That — 

No, the *boy* is hard, and that is *truly* fascinating, considering what he *must* be looking at, and feeling, and knowing — 

And — 

Can you hear me, little one? Jason reaches — 

(I I I —) 

Abruptly, Jason is alone in his own mind, and surrounded by *properly* dead shades. There is no sign of any wonderfully-helpful books, or any intriguingly-violent boys. There. 

But. 

The boy was speaking French.


	3. Let's definitely be hasty.

It's difficult — *immensely* difficult — but he postpones all plans to go *warring* after the last... interlude. It's just prudent. 

_He sees sense,_ Etrigan says.

Now and then. 

_We're still, for some odd reason, in *France*._

I...

_Yes, Blood?_

It was... on the way? 

_To...?_

Any number of places where Arabic is spoken, read, and written. 

_Can we speak about your precipitousness? And how it could be alleviated if you would simply let Mother introduce you to —_

My companion, she tried to give me a *badger* for a familiar.

_And?_

The badger was rabid, possessed, and had a habit of trying to *mount* everything I *owned*.

_She's always been quite perfect at finding mates for people._

Yes, how *is* your relationship with that pool of *magma* going?

_Swimmingly._

Jason coughs — 

Etrigan shows his teeth in their shared soul-space — 

Jason bows with a flourish. The point is yours. 

_Thank you kindly. About this new fixation._

You have to admit that there is something *curious* here, my companion — 

_What, precisely, will you do if the boy is *not* to your tastes?_

*Extricate* myself — 

_And if you find that you happen to be to the *boy's* tastes, Blood?_

Etrigan. 

_Children — even human children — have odd and — dare I say it? *Catholic* tastes._

Jason makes a face — both in and out of their soul-space. He manages to hide some of it behind his tumbler, but the maid who *had* been smiling at him is now giving him *only* a professional glance. 

_I apologize._

No, it's — 

_Don't, Blood. We both take the care and kindness of others where we can get it, in the absence of everything we can never have, at all._

Jason winces — and flexes his gloved hands. As you say. 

Etrigan nods at him. _Will you take rooms?_

Not yet.

_Not until you know more about the boy._

Jason... winces again. I do *know* I'm being precipitous — 

_You just won't stop — no. You *can't* stop._

*I* apologize — 

_Accepted. We're in the wrong city._

What...? 

_There aren't enough dead buried in and around this place for what I sensed the last time we were *with* the boy._

Oh. Oh — Etrigan, you need not — 

_I do, because you do. We are one, my companion — and we always will be._

Jason grunts — and flushes. And places his hand against the thinned wall between them. 

Etrigan does the same. _You're looking for a violent city. A city positively *built* on the *backs* of the dead — and with dead coursing through its *veins* —_

Paris. 

_Yes...? Well, I suppose the theaters will be acceptable._

Jason snorts and finishes his wine. He catches the maid's eye to bring her attention to him leaving coins for her — 

And then he takes his leave.


	4. Yeah, you were already doomed, Jason. Happens to the best of us.

He's taking in a play with Etrigan when it happens again. It — 

The boy is sucking a man's cock. 

It's not a particularly large or prepossessing cock...

Hm.

_Yes, Blood?_

I...

_Do tell._

I was not expecting to taste another man's cock tonight...

_Nor was I._

I — hm. 

_I was, in fact, expecting to taste nothing but the exhalations of you and our fellow theater patrons —_

Yes, I — 

_As we took in a show —_

Etrigan — 

_That did not in any way involve human *cocks*._

Hm. 

_Yes?_

I would like to point out that, technically, this isn't my fault. 

_I would like to point out that I don't *care*._

I — 

The boy slurps and teases his way off the man's cock with practiced skill — 

The man, however, has all the aplomb of an apprentice with his *first* whore, because the boy has not even made it through *half* a teasing purr before the man is spurting all over the boy's — 

Well, judging by the way the view stutters and jerks, that would've hit his *face*. 

Perhaps the boy is not so practiced and jaded himself? 

(I — I am *skilled*!) 

Oh — you can *hear* me —

(I can hear *everything* you say — one *moment*,) the boy says, in French again, though *Jason* had been speaking English. 

He'll do better. 

The boy turns his attention to the *blustering* man, who is trying and failing to find his pride among the spatters of spend he's left everywhere. 

The boy pets and soothes and cossets the man, complimenting his flavours and strength and prowess and other such comfortable lies. His purr puts a *little* life back into the man's cock... but not enough. 

(He has not *paid* for enough.) 

Jason coughs — 

*Regroups* — 

What in all the hells is *forming* this connection between them? 

What is *allowing* the boy to *read* him so easily? 

And the boy manages to shoo the — smiling, dressed, and blushing — man out the door with more coos and petting.

The man had called the boy Julian...

(That is *not* my name!) 

Jason blinks — and grins. Your work-name, perhaps...?

(Are you *contemptuous* of whores, Blood?) 

Hardly. People in your profession have provided me with some of the very *warmest* moments of my life — and I am no hypocrite. 

And that... 

There is the *slightest* of pauses — 

And then there is a *reach*, power to *power*. Well, that answers *some* of the questions.

Jason does *not* grip the boy by his power, but — Mages — *especially* spirit-mages — ought to be more careful with how they use their power... 

(I — was this a threat?) 

I do not threaten. 

Another pause — (Then what?) 

Do you have a teacher...? 

(I have not *chosen* one for myself, yet — and *you* are too hungry. Too *obvious*. You will not get very much money from me if I do choose you!)

I don't charge money.

A growl — (And do you only teach *whores*, Blood?) 

No, mon grand. And I do not fuck — or make love with — my students until they *demand* it of me. I believe you can sense my honesty for that...?

The boy says nothing. 

He is looking only at the door of the room he's in, and it's impossible to be certain if it's the same building the office was in — 

If it's the same *brothel* the office was in — 

It's impossible to be certain of *anything* — 

And then the boy walks to the basins on the hearth and quickly and methodically washes himself. 

He doesn't speak. 

He doesn't *speak* — 

And Jason does not have to be *silent*. Will you tell me your name? 

(Will you tell me *yours*?) 

Jason Blood. 

(This is not the name you were given at birth!) 

Jason grins. No, it is *not*... but it *is* my *true* name. 

(I...) 

You felt the honesty of that, too, I daresay...

(Yes, I did! I do not...) 

Mm?

(You chose this name?) 

I did. 

(You were not *marked* with this name.) 

I was not. 

The boy nods thoughtfully. (I suppose you are powerful enough to do this thing.) 

I *am* powerful, yes, but it does not *take* that sort of power to change one's true name. 

(No? Tell me!) 

Happily: You need only strength of will, and *motivation*. 

A scoffing noise. (That is not enough!) 

One, not all humans are marked with their names as *thoroughly* as I believe *you* were — 

(I —) 

Two, there are times when there is nothing more necessary than leaving the past — all of the past — as far *in* the past as possible. 

(Do you run from *all* things you fear?) 

Jason laughs helplessly. Mon grand —

(I have not approved of this pet name —) 

Rest assured: I run from *all* things which I *know* will *definitely* destroy me... and absolutely nothing else. 

(Your past would have destroyed you?) 

It *did* destroy the man I used to be — and he was quite an agreeable young man, for the most part. 

(You are not agreeable?) 

I'm usually rather disagreeable — 

(Then why should I choose you as my teacher!) 

Because I'm also charming...?

Another scoffing noise — and this one comes with a *sneer* that Jason can *see*. 

The boy has walked in front of a mirror. 

The boy...

Well. I assure you, I could *feel* that sneer well enough — 

(Do you not find me beautiful?) 

You're stunning — even with that expression, which is impressive — and. The woman I saw. That was your mother. 

The boy nods. 

She is... a woman of some power in that brothel? 

(She is the Madame's *secretary*.) 

*She* has been your teacher. 

(Of course!) 

Well. I see I'm going to have to do a lot better than charm... 

(Yes! You will!) 

What would you like...?

(Who is *Etrigan*. Why do you have another *person* in your *soul*?) 

Oh... dear. 

Etrigan laughs uproariously. The sound is *obnoxiously* thunderous — 

(Well, Blood? Will you tell me?) 

I... usually tend to wait to share that tale until I know the person a bit better. 

(How *much* better?) 

Jason licks his lips. Face-to-face conversation wouldn't be — 

(No.) 

I — 

(*No*.) 

Jason — stares like an idiot. No...? 

(You will not come to me. You will not *invade* my *home*.) 

I'm not an *army* — 

(You will not do this thing. Not until *I* know *you* better.) 

Etrigan may very well be laughing his flames extinguished. 

Jason does not do *any* of the things which would allow him to discern the boy's name and location despite the boy's wishes. 

He does not. 

He does *not*. 

Etrigan is *roaring* — 

Jason breathes. As you say. How would you like for us to — 

(You will tell me about the other being in your soul. Unless, of course, it would be easier for me to speak with him directly?) 

And this — 

*All* of this — 

Jason narrows his *eyes* — 

(Well, Blood? Will you allow this?) 

Julian. 

(That is *not* my name; I have *told* you this —) 

You knew we would be connected tonight. 

(I...) 

Did you summon me...? 

The boy moves away from the mirror — but not before Jason sees his flush. Etrigan isn't laughing anymore. 

It — 

How the bloody — no. 

No. *Julian* — 

(Do *not* —) 

We *both* know that I can *use* a large amount of power against you. I do not *wish* to. I will *not* do it if you do not *force* me — 

(You — you do not threaten!) 

That was a *promise*. 

The boy grunts and looks into the mirror again, wide-eyed and — heartbreakingly young. (I do not *know* exactly how we came to be connected. I did not *expect* it the first time, or the second! I *felt* that you were a witch, a powerful witch, but there was no...) He shakes his head. (But — after the second... after you *reached* for me...) 

You knew how to reach for me... 

(I am a *quick* student!) 

Etrigan's entire *being* is wry. 

And, in truth, so is Jason's. 

(Please... I only wished for you to come back.) 

Jason inhales sharply — 

(You were... you were so interested in my book... but you were a warrior, killing *undead*! And. And a witch. I thought...) The boy shrugs. (I will not tease you again. I will not *summon* you again!) 

Not that — I — 

_Blood... it's time._

Give me.... just a moment, mon grand, Jason says, and swallows. 

(I will leave you *be* —) 

Shh. It's all right. You summoned me while Etrigan and I were watching a show in a very public theater, and now the show is over. We must take our leave.

(Oh — but — I —) 

Summon me again in five *minutes*, mon grand. *Please*. 

The boy stares into the mirror hungrily — 

I *want* you to summon me. I left England and took rooms in Paris in the hopes of finding you — 

(*Oh* — oh. I will summon you! I will!) 

Very good. Until then. And Jason tugs himself back carefully. It doesn't feel like dimming a connection with someone he's shared blood with. It's... 

It's far more difficult to *grasp*. Far more *tenuous*. 

He can't — 

After a few moments of pulling back, he simply *is* staring at an emptying theater with no real idea of how the connection *worked*. 

_I dislike having this little control._

Just so, Jason says, standing and moving out of the theater, into the alley — 

He checks for witnesses — none. 

He makes a portal and walks into his still-mostly-empty rooms in Paris. And then he straightens up a bit. 

And moves a slightly-less-cursed mirror into the bedroom. 

And wonders, for approximately the ten thousandth time, if he should just go ahead and heal the bump in the bridge of his nose. 

Once again, he decides against it. 

When he's done, there are still a few moments left, and he forces himself to sit and wait through them just as if his balls aren't crawling with *staggering* *impatience*. 

What would happen if *he* tried to reach for the boy? 

Would it work? 

Would he just frustrate himself? 

What exactly will they both do if it doesn't work for *either* of them? 

Well, no, *Jason* will just methodically haunt every brothel in Paris until he finds — 

And then he's looking at — the woman. 

The boy's *mother*. 

And *she*... is most assuredly looking *for* *him*. 

He can *feel* it. 

*Her* power is practiced — and *deftly* aimed as near to his tender places as she can get. 

She clearly has no difficulty whatsoever discerning his presence in her son's soul and — well. 

This is the soul she'd marked when the boy was an infant. Such things don't get much more *effective* than when they're done by spirit-mages. 

(No, they do *not* —) 

"Tricky boy. Focus on *me*." 

"I apologize, Mother, but I do not know if he can hear us if we speak this way," the boy says, looking up through his lashes at her. 

They are in her office again, and she is dressed in — different — silks again. She is behind her desk with one hand near a bell-pull which would undoubtedly summon well-trained guards and the other hand near a shamelessly-exposed stiletto. 

Or... 

There is a tension to her jaw and eyes which suggests that, perhaps, the stiletto would normally be hidden. 

The boy offers no clues. 

"Well, tricky boy...? *Can* he hear us?" 

"He... has not responded to anything we've said..." 

"That was not an answer." 

"I. I do not *know* —" 

I can hear, Jason says, and winces at his own habits of circumspection. 

The boy takes a breath. "He hears, and is wincing for being a secretive person." 

"And this is honest...?" 

"Yes, Mother. He has been honest with me throughout our conversation." 

"Seductive...?" 

"Yes, Mother. Even before he saw my face and body!" 

"He tried to talk you into bed before he saw your pretty face?" 

"Not that, Mother. He wants to have me as his *student*." 

The mother raises an eyebrow. 

The boy spreads his hands. "I *know*, Mother. But you have always taught me to look for signs of hunger, true hunger, and that is where I have found them in this man." 

The mother studies her *son* for long moments — and then she nods. "Blood. *Why* is this what you hunger for most of all with my son?" 

Jason blinks — 

'The question surprised him, Mother," the boy says. 

"I see," the mother says. "Answer, please." 

Jason licks his lips. I don't believe anything else is on *offer*, Mademoiselle. 

"He is avoiding the question, Mother —" 

"How?" 

"By saying that nothing else has been offered to him, which is *not* true. I showed him my body; I summoned him while I was sucking cock — such things are very clear." 

"So they are, tricky boy — and very much against the *rules*." 

"I..." 

"We'll discuss that another time," the mother says, and focuses on *Jason* again. "Answer my question, Blood. *Why* do you wish to teach my son above all other things? If you were disinclined toward young boys, you would've made that clear. So." 

Murdering boggarts — 

"He is cursing in very interesting ways, Mother." 

Bloody — 

"He is cursing in less interesting ways." 

Jason *stares* — no. No. Honesty. I wish to teach your son because students stay with me for longer than my lovers do — generally. 

The boy *grunts* —

"What is it —" 

"I —" 

*Additionally*, Jason says, I wish to teach your son because teaching is my *vocation*. I live to *end* ignorance, wherever I can, *however* I can. I've developed some little skill at teaching mages of varying orientations — including spirit-mages — and I believe I can bring your son to his full potential while I also develop a lasting friendship with him. That is *valuable*. I will *never* disdain a chance for such things. 

"He — Mother —" 

"What *is* it?" 

"I —" 

*Additionally* — 

"Jason, *wait*!" 

Jason inhales — and stops. And inclines his head. 

The mother has narrowed her beautiful eyes. 

The boy is clutching at his thighs — 

And Jason can breathe. Just — breathe. 

And breathe through the boy sharing what *Jason* had shared. 

Absolutely all of it. Including — 

"Mother... I believe he is very lonely." 

"You are not certain of this, tricky boy...?" 

"I am not certain... it does not seem as though he *should* be lonely." 

"I have already taught you that many people have not learned how to *keep* lovers, tricky boy." 

"*Yes*, Mother, and he has said this — or... he has *seemed* to say this —" 

"But...?" 

"He seems more intelligent than this. He... feels more intelligent." 

Jason shivers and swallows. 

The mother cocks her head to the side. "You intimated that there was something he had yet to say on the topic of why he wished, so badly, to teach you." 

"Yes, Mother!" And the boy focuses on him *expectantly*. 

And this... 

There is, of course, an urge to pull back, to wreathe himself in shadows, to *protect* himself — 

But he doesn't *need* to feel the boy becoming impatient and incensed to find himself wanting to reject those options out of hand. 

He... 

He would like, very much, to be nothing but honest with these *staggeringly* honest and proprietary people. 

(Do so!) 

As you say, mon grand. I wish to teach you because, even if we do become lovers sometime in the future, I believe the friendship we *could* develop while we are teacher and student would serve us well — 

(And so I would not leave you?) 

And that was just as *blunt* as they have *both* demanded — Yes, mon grand. 

(*Why* would I leave you?) 

I — 

The mother clears her throat. 

(Oh —) "I apologize, Mother! He has told me his other reason —" 

"And it captured your attention...?" 

"Yes, Mother! He believes that if we *do* become lovers *after* I have been his student —" 

"The relationship will be more successful than at least some of his others. I see," she says, and leans back in her chair, obviously thinking. 

The boy is only focused on her — 

Jason can be *patient* — 

(Yes, you can!) 

Jason grins — and waits. 

After another few moments, the mother focuses on him again, touching him *lightly* with her power and then pulling back once more. 

It is a *pointed* request to focus, and to focus only on her.

You have my attention, Mademoiselle, I assure you. 

The boy nods once — 

The mother folds her hands in front of her on the desk. "How do you fail your lovers." 

Jason... perhaps should have expected that question.

The boy says nothing. Only watches and waits. 

Jason breathes deeply and nods. When I find myself drawn to them particularly strongly, I tend to pull back so that I don't smother them when a simple touch would be more appropriate. My absences are noted and resented. I find myself feeling a need to swallow them *whole*... and I do not do that. I pull back farther —

The boy hisses between his teeth — 

"Yes, tricky boy?" 

"He has been — he has been *foolish*." 

"Let me see if I can guess," the mother says, and crosses her long legs. "He knows *precisely* how he's failed his lovers — time and again — but he *doesn't* seem to know how to stop doing it." 

"It is *obvious*! He has —" 

"He has *spoken* the answer to the problem, or at least *some* of the answer to the problem, and yet he still manages to repeat the error?"

"*Yes*, Mother! It is *infuriating* in a man so obviously intelligent and *old*." 

Oh — wait — 

The mother cocks her head to the side again. "You did say you sensed great age in him... were you able to pinpoint your answers?"

Jason leans forward helplessly — 

"No, Mother. I have not *met* anyone as old as this! Not even the other witches you have introduced me to!" 

*That* makes the mother blink — as it almost certainly should. Jason clears *his* throat. I am willing to share my age — 

(What is it!) 

I lost *exact* count a few centuries ago — 

(I!) 

But I am well over six hundred years old. 

The boy blinks rapidly — 

"Yes...?" 

"He is... he has said that he is well over six hundred years old..."

She inhales — and wets her lips. But her discomfiture only lasts for a moment. "You believe he was lying?" 

"I do not! But..." 

"The answer seems too incredible...?"

"I — yes, Mother. I understand that I must keep an open *mind*, however." 

"Do you?" 

"*Yes*, Mother. I will do better!" 

She nods in satisfaction and focuses on him again. "Blood. What will you *do* to protect my son from the failings you've allowed to take *root* within you?"

Jason takes a breath — 

*Realizes* that he was about to say something about how it was true that he'd had problematic relationships in the past, but also some successful ones, and that his most successful relationships had all been with people he'd come to know — and who had come to know *him* — over the course of time, and with whom there had thus been *comfort* with each other's assorted quirks and failings and — 

And that's not good enough. 

Why in all the spheres did he ever think that was *good* enough?

Why hadn't he realized that — wait. 

Jason *grips* the boy — whose name he now knows is Aramis — by the *soul* with *his* power and brushes aside his *admirably* subtle little bit of guidance and *manipulation*. 

"Tricky *boy*." 

"I — Mother, he *has* me — he is holding — I can do *nothing*!" 

She *grunts* — and goes pale and still. 

Tell your mother what you did. 

He can feel Aramis *blushing* — and... yes. A bit of mining gives him the name Claudette d'Herblay for the mother. 

She is *gritting* her *teeth*. 

Do it now. 

Aramis shudders violently. "Mother, I — I tried —" 

"You tried to enchant him." 

"Yes, Mother." 

"To do what. Precisely." 

"To make him be more honest with me! More clear! He was going to give you *excuses* about why he could not ever be an honest man, an honest *lover*. He was going to say that if I was a *good* boy, and a well-*behaved* boy, I would take what I was *given* from him and never ask for more!" 

d'Herblay's expression is stone. 

And Jason... Jason can't do anything but what he was *going* to do if Aramis was honest: He loosens his grip. 

They both *shudder* — 

And Jason feels like an arsehole. In a moment, I'm going to *release* you, but I want you both to think very carefully about what actions you will take *after* I do that. 

Aramis relays his words — 

"We will take *no* action," d'Herblay says. 

"Maman, we must —" 

"*Hst*!" 

Aramis hangs his *head* — 

"Look *up*, Aramis!" 

He obeys *immediately* — 

And d'Herblay nods. "Blood. My son enchanted you — *attempted* to enchant you — and that was both rude and a *mistake*. However, his reasons were entirely understandable. You need only stop trying to protect whatever small and petty hurts linger on your soul after so many centuries for a few moments and *think*." 

Jason *grunts* — 

Does *not* tighten his *grip* on Aramis, who is at least *one* of the most *infuriating* people he has ever — 

He stops — 

He stops. And raises a *pointed* eyebrow. 

"He has banked his rage, Mother." 

d'Herblay inclines her head. "You do not share your pain with your lovers." 

Jason blinks — 

"He is surprised by your insight, Mother." 

I — 

"You do not tell them — not all of them, or even most of them — the truth of what has made you who you are. They have not been *your* lovers, as opposed to the lovers of the man you decided they *truly* wanted." 

*Mademoiselle* — 

"You gave them no chance to decide." 

Jason *grunts* — 

"My question has become this: Why should I believe that you will not treat my son so ill?"

That. Mademoiselle, why are we still *negotiating*? 

"He has asked a very foolish question, Mother," Aramis says, and sounds disappointed in *him*. 

d'Herblay firms her mouth into a line. "He believes we have finished with him, tricky boy...?" 

I — 

"He is *telling* himself this, Mother. He does not truly believe it." 

"Mm." 

I beg your — oh, crumbling *revenants*. 

"He is cursing very interestingly again, Mother." 

"How so?" 

"Very gruesomely — I believe he spends much time with the undead!" 

"As opposed to with living people who could provide him with companionship — and checks on the worst of his behaviour, yes, I see." 

They focus their attention on him *witheringly*. 

And this...

Requires some measure of thought. 

If you would both excuse me for just a few moments? I need to speak with my companion about this situation. 

"He wishes to leave us so that he can speak with the other being — the one who isn't human. Etrigan." 

d'Herblay hums and inclines her head like a magnanimous potentate. 

It's only what Jason has earned. 

He puts up a *gentle* privacy wall between himself and his *tormentors* — 

And then he turns to Etrigan. I'm waiting for... well, no, you didn't actually predict *this*, old friend. 

_No, I did not. Perhaps I should have._

*How*? 

_You've told me more than once that we would do well to learn to —_

Expect the unexpected, yes, I — Jason snorts and scrubs a hand down over his face. My companion, I believe I would be something *like* satisfied if I could just figure out how the boy keeps slipping past my — *our* — defenses —

_No._

What? What are you —

_You would not be satisfied with knowledge alone, my friend._

Jason watches the rueful smile that *had* been on his face — curdle. Etrigan...

_Blood... Jason._

Hecate's *cunt*, Etrigan, you don't *use* my name unless — 

_I have been watching all of this closely, Jason. You have a limited number of responses to brilliant mages who are capable of surprising you multiple times in a single conversation._

That's because there are a limited number of people that *describes*. I — *fuck*. 

_Are you ready to listen?_

Jason does not cover his face — 

Or wreathe himself in shadows — 

Or drop himself in a *pit* — I'm ready. 

_All they have done, between them, is seduce you. The fact that they know this — know this with and without the use of their power — has seduced you *further* —_

Jason snarls — 

_Do you need to go behead something?_

*Yes* — no. No. I'm listening. 

_Are you quite —_

I'm certain. I — he would be the finest student I've ever *had*, Etrigan!

_If you could keep him from destroying the fabric of reality, yes._

We both know that a shadow-mage is far more likely — 

_And a spirit-mage who had been *trained* by a shadow-mage? Like *you*?_

I... am still not admitting that I'm a shadow-mage. 

Etrigan looks at him. 

It's the sort of look that is designed to make one feel one's balls *crisping* — 

_Thank you. I've worked hard on it._

You've done well — 

_Jason._

Fuck — all *right*, both the boy and his mother are mad beyond the *telling* of it. They *had* to know that I — or *you* — could have crushed them to powder and *grease* at any of *several* points during that conversation — 

_And yet they continued to goad you. Why?_

Because they're *mad* — 

_And?_

Because they knew that it was the best way to get precisely what they *wanted* from me. 

_Which is?_

My *helpless* obsession. I — 

Jason growls — 

Stands — 

Paces — This won't *go* anywhere if the boy can only be diverting in one *way*. 

_We both already know —_

That... that Aramis has been *trained* to be diverting in *multiple* ways, yes, but — 

_You'll want him to be himself, of course._

*Yes* — 

_You'll want him to share his self, his deepest truths, his very soul —_

Of *course* I'll want —

_That is, of course, what you've been denying him even the possibility of from you,_ Etrigan says *blandly*. 

I. 

Etrigan says nothing. 

Jason licks his lips. Look, I...

_Mm?_

It's not that I....

_I believe you were about to say something to him about how your most successful — happiest? — relationships were with the people who simply accepted the fact that you would never be wholly honest with them about yourself._

It's true that I was going to say that, but I wasn't ruling being honest out — oh, bloody hell, that sounds just as horrible as it is, doesn't it. 

_It actually sounds worse, I believe._

Fuck. 

_Rather weaseling._

Fuck — 

_There was a hint of a pule._

I've changed my mind; let's go kill things — 

_Jason._

*What*? 

_You mustn't think I have no reservations about this._

I... no? No — *your* reservations are all about the fact that we still don't know how this connection came to be, or how to extricate ourselves without committing atrocities, or how to keep this from happening again with some less *benign* magic-user. 

_Precisely. I *don't* mean to push you into a deeper entanglement with Aramis and his mother, Jason. But... it occurs to me than they are far too blithe about this for people who are as ignorant about the questions you listed as *we* are._

Jason nods slowly... and smiles wryly. 

_Yes...?_

I *will* get answers from them, my companion. And they will almost certainly get any *number* of answers from *me*. 

_Well. We could consider enjoying the novelty...?_

Jason snorts, sits on the bed again, and reaches for Aramis.


	5. By all means, send him to bed on time.

The connection is smooth, close, *immediate* — 

He can feel Aramis's *thrill* — 

And he can feel Aramis tamping that thrill down for something much, much more professional. 

But... there is no sign of Claudette d'Herblay in the office. 

And Aramis isn't *speaking* to him. 

Hm. 

Aramis... are we waiting for your mother?

(You ask far too many foolish questions.) 

Wouldn't you agree that it's better to ask a foolish question — and have it answered — than to make a foolish assumption?

(It is *better* to not be a *fool*.) 

Mon grand — 

(I still have not approved of this nickname.) 

You still have not allowed me the use of your *given* name...

Aramis pauses — 

*Obviously* considers — 

(I do not wish you to call me Julian.) 

It is not your name. I apologize for using it — 

(The other employees of Madame Margaud's use this name for me. It is my *public* name.) 

Jason blinks — 

Aramis is *studying* him — 

And Jason can put together the clues he has been given. You're Rom. And your mother's people were originally from Spain?

(Yes. What do you feel about this?) 

I have had a Rom student before — though Eon was from much further east, and eventually settled in a Britain on a different sphere — 

(I! Do you mean — what do you mean!) 

Jason grins. Are you familiar with the concept of the spheres, mon grand? 

(I — it is said that the *planets* are... but that is not what you meant! You were speaking of another sphere like this! Another *earth*!) 

Just so. The spheres are numberless, and more seem to be created with every choice made, every possibility created — 

(Wait — *wait* — how is this! Tell me more about —) 

I will teach you this...

(Oh...) 

In answer to your earlier question, I do *not* harbor that sort of prejudice anymore. When I was a boy, and human, I was ignorant in many ways. Now that I'm a man, and have walked hundreds of spheres and traveled all *over* *this* sphere, I save my loathing, my prejudice, for those who have *earned* it with their *deeds* — or lack of same. 

And Jason can feel Aramis's heart pounding — 

Feel him thinking very hard about *something* — 

He wants to *know* — 

(Tell me — tell me where the rest of Eon's *tribe* was! Why did he leave them? Why were you not taken *in* by his people?) 

And that... Jason winces. 

(Tell me!) 

Eon's mother Ferka was the only other survivor from their tribe, mon grand — 

(No — but —) 

*Christians*, mon grand. They can be a virulent breed when their blood is up. 

(*Oh* — but. Of course you are not a Christian in any way...) 

Are you? 

(I am not *accustomed* to *meeting* people who are not!) 

Even the *witches*? 

(Even the witches do not *speak* the way *you* speak, Blood.) 

Hm. Well, I suppose not. I'm *somewhat* more circumspect in crowded taverns. Somewhat. 

(Whom *do* you worship?) 

*No* one. The gods are dangerous. If I teach you *nothing* else, let that be the *one* thing that sticks. 

(I...)

Yes...?

Aramis turns — and looks into a mirror. He allows Jason to see him licking his lips and smiling wryly. (Blood. I have no god. I have no *religion*. My mother, my good mother, has told me that this is something I must choose for myself when I am older and educated in the ways of the *world*.) 

That's reasonable *enough*... 

(*You* tell me that there are many worlds, and... many gods?) 

Countless. 

Aramis licks his lips — and nods. (I will need much education on this subject.) 

I will be *happy* to teach you about the gods — and why to stay *away* from them. 

Aramis cocks his head to the side *precisely* like his mother. (And you will allow me to make my own decisions?) 

That — could anyone bloody stop you? 

Aramis bites the tip of his tongue and colours just — 

A little. 

If it is art, it is magnificent. 

Aramis looks into the mirror again. (It is a *little* bit art. Everything I *do* is a little bit art, Blood. I must always be beautiful.) 

Must you? 

Aramis nods once. 

Did you plan to become a courtesan? 

This... makes Aramis look *away* from the mirror. 

I can rescind that question...

(I wish to become a soldier,) Aramis says, and turns back to the mirror, smiling ruefully. (This is not what Mother desires for me, and so I am hurt inside.) 

Jason winces — 

And Aramis hums. (Your mind is full of half-spoken arguments about how terrible the life of a soldier can be — and you speak from experience. Your mind is full of arguments I have heard from *other* soldiers, all wishing to save me for something happier, something lighter, something brighter and *softer*. I will tell Mother this. She will approve of you somewhat more.) 

Aramis — I mean — 

(You may use my name. I have decided.) 

Thank you, but — 

(You do not know me, yet, Blood — *Jason*. Mother *does* know me, and knows that I *will* be a soldier someday. *This* is why I hurt — because we *both* know I *must* disappoint her.) 

The world is full of *options*, Aramis. We often believe our destinies are carved in stone when they are only writ in *water*. 

(Who is speaking of *destiny*? I am speaking of *will*. I have wanted *nothing* but the life of a soldier since I've learned what it truly was, Jason. All of it — including the horror. Including the terror. Including the *pain*. I will take it. It must be *mine*.) 

And that hurts. That...

Aramis parts his lips in the mirror — (You are watching me grow older in your mind...) 

Yes. 

(You are watching me grow older and sadder and more hurt, more cold... because of the life I will live?) 

Yes, Aramis — 

(Will I not have you? Forever and always?) 

Jason inhales sharply — 

Aramis licks his teeth. (You have dreamed of this, I think. Being the one to keep a lover warm and safe in the dark and cold. Being the one to keep a lover *happy*.) 

Of course I — 

(You have not thought you *could*, and so you have not —) 

Aramis. 

(You should not *interrupt* —) 

Aramis. There are curses on me, Jason says, and raises his still-gloved hands. *One* of them is that I cannot even *touch* another person with bare skin without them recoiling in atavistic horror — unless we have shared blood, and I have corrupted them. *Cursed* them. 

(Ohh...) And Aramis reaches toward his mirror — (Tell me about the curses!) 

I can give no blessings. My healings are painful, terrible things. My touch is... crawling. Awful. *Hot*. 

(I — no, go on!) 

My presence is *ominous*. I almost always feel as though I'm *lurking*, as opposed to simply *being*. Those are the important ones — 

(And this is alleviated by the sharing of blood?) 

My *touch* is alleviated by the sharing of blood; nothing else is. 

Aramis nods thoughtfully, and his eyes are sharp and bright. 

For a moment, it's impossible not to think of them dulled with the crushing fatigue of battle, of hours and days spent with the stench of old blood and offal in your nose, with the sounds of screaming men and horses in your ears — 

Jason pushes it *away* — 

But Aramis looks at him sharply. (I. Have never heard a horse scream. Before.) 

Jason smiles with pain. That was never going to last, mon grand. 

(And you're thinking about — *you* do not go to war on horseback anymore.) 

No, I — Aramis — 

(Will you also teach me *your* weapons?) 

Fuck. Jason closes his eyes for a long moment, and then opens them and nods.

(Tell me what you are not saying!) 

Jason smiles wryly. To *effectively* use the cursed and/or *possessed* arms and armour —

(Possessed — you — *what*?) 

— you will have to develop a *large* amount of skill and facility with *mundane* arms and armour, mon grand. You're going to be training for a *long* time. 

Aramis frowns suspiciously. 

And no, I will *not* be slowing your training down in an attempt to hold you back, because I already know that would drive you to do something suicidally — if not *homicidally* — *reckless* — 

(I am not reckless!) 

No...? Not even reckless enough to seduce me without your mother's permission...? 

Aramis flushes — and lifts his chin just so. (You have made your point, Jason.) 

And *you've* seduced me well and truly, Aramis, so why don't we put aside the secrets —

(*What* secrets?) 

What is this, Jason says, as baldly as possible. What's *happening* between us? *Why* is it happening between us? You *must* know that I would follow the *hints* of you to the very ends of this sphere — and far beyond. I'm *thrilled* to know you. But I *need* to know *why* we know each other. 

(*Why* do you need to know this thing?) 

Jason coughs a laugh. Aramis...

(If you are so thrilled to know me, then take it as a — a *gift* —) 

Aramis. You are *not* making me any *less*... shall we say *eager*? 

Aramis flushes again, and looks down — but only for a moment. His mother has returned. 

Jason gets to see Aramis licking his lips one more time, and then all of his focus is on her as she sits behind her desk. 

She is dressed in street-clothes, and holding something small and not-immediately-recognizable between her fingers. 

She is frowning. 

"Maman —" 

"Tricky boy. I know you have been speaking with Blood, despite me telling you not to do so." 

"I..." 

"Tell me what you were speaking about with him which made you *agitated*." 

Aramis winces. "He wished to know... why we were connected. How we came to *be* connected." 

d'Herblay frowns more deeply for a moment — 

Stops and taps the small object against her left palm four times —

*Tosses* the object across the room to Aramis, who catches it and closes it in his fist without *looking* at it — 

And Jason feels — *something* separating him from Aramis. He can still see through his eyes and hear everything he hears, but it's all at something of a remove. When he tries to reach for Aramis, he's... blocked. 

And whatever's blocking him isn't *Aramis*. 

Jason *growls* — 

"Mother, *he* is agitated, and. And so am I. More." 

"I know, tricky boy. You will both feel precisely that... wrong for as long as you hold that amulet, or others like it. I have stronger ones which can break the connection entirely —" 

Fuck — 

"Mother, he is. I am. We are —" 

"I know, tricky boy. But you need to know that the option is available to you. You need to know that you have a *choice*." 

"I — I..." 

"You need to know that this isn't your *destiny*. Not necessarily." 

"Yes — yes, I see. But —" 

"Shh. Toss it to me." 

Aramis obeys immediately — 

The connection heals and renews itself — 

Aramis *reaches* for him so powerfully, so — 

And Jason can only reach back, only — not grip, not that. He touches, he caresses, he strokes — 

Aramis shivers and moans — 

"He is being less reticent...?" 

"Yes, Mother!" 

d'Herblay nods once. "You want our secrets, Blood. That is reasonable enough — as far as it goes. However, *I* have seen no sign that you are willing to share *your* secrets. Perhaps you have shown something better to my son...?" 

"He — he has done better!" 

"Has he, tricky boy? Or has he seduced?" 

"Both, Mother! He hasn't answered my *earlier* questions, but his *thoughts* are now *inviting* my questions."

"You have not wanted to share our secrets until he has *proven* that he will share his, though...?"

"Of course not!" 

d'Herblay hums and leans back in her chair. "Ask him a question." 

"Yes, Mother!" And Aramis focuses on him — 

*Caresses* him — 

Jason *shivers* — 

(Ohh...) "Who is *Etrigan*." 

The fire-demon who shares a soul with me. The woman I *thought* was my lover when I was a young man bound me, defiled my body, and used me as the *bait* to summon a demon to enslave. If Etrigan had consumed my body and soul as he was meant to do, he would've been enslaved to Morgan for some perfectly terrible length of time. He was wise enough to realize this, and made common cause with me. We battled our way out of the trap she'd laid for us, and then we battled her. For hours. Perhaps days. And then we tore her apart and ate her. 

Aramis swallows once — 

Twice — 

(Jason...) 

Jason smiles ruefully. Say anything. Anything at all. I know that was... horrible —

(You believe that you must be *judged* for what you did — and did *not* do. Yes?) 

Of course — 

(I — oh, Jason, *I* believe that you shared more with me than you meant to share...) 

I meant to share everything with you, Aramis. There were simply words I couldn't — yet — speak. *You* should feel free to say all of them to your mother. 

(You — but — the *Round* Table...) 

I promise to tell you more about it another time, mon grand. It dovetails with your religious education. 

(*Oh* — but — no, not that, not yet. Jason, everything you showed me — you feel so much *loathing* for yourself!) 

Is it truly a *shock*? 

And Aramis is bruised within him. He — 

Oh, mon grand, I apologize — 

(*No*. You will *not*. You've had too much *hurt*, and you *obviously* think you don't deserve to have — have it *end* —)

Aramis — 

(I will talk to Mother.) And Aramis wrenches his attention away and tells his mother... everything. 

Absolutely everything. 

d'Herblay listens attentively and says nothing at all until Aramis stops, at which point she says: "How many of your lovers have you given that to?" 

Given — I — one. Ser Darwyn. I had been his squire, and he stood for me when it was time for me to be knighted. He was my lover for years, until he had finally been injured too many times.... 

Jason growls. He went home before Morgan came, in a cart. I followed him there like a lost puppy, after the end. He took me in, filthy and starved and wordless and *cursed*. He shared blood with me right away, and... and we had a little time. I wept on him, again and again. 

He took care of me.

After he was dead, his retainers tried to drown me in the lake. I was tempted to let them. Etrigan saved us. And we... moved on. 

Aramis caresses him again — and shares with his mother. 

d'Herblay shivers and nods. "And you decided that it was 'better' not to place the 'burden' of your true self on another lover." 

Jason growls — I know precisely what you're going to say, and yes, I *would* say the same things to someone I cared for, but — 

"You are not too much for me, Teacher..." 

Jason grunts — 

Aramis is looking into the *mirror* again — "You will never be a burden to me. You will never... my mother, my good mother, *she* summoned you to me. You were supposed to come in *person*. You were supposed to walk through the *door* so that we could see you and measure you and know you, and know if you were *truly* suitable to be my true mate —" 

I — *what* — 

"But it is not unknown among my mother's people for mates to come *this* way. In dreams, in fantasies... well. We were not *completely* unprepared, as you can see, my Teacher."

*Aramis* — 

"You came for me, and you hunted me down when I was coy and hid from you, and you made yourself worthy when you were not yet *ready*. How can I do any less? It is true that I was not completely *honest* with you, and that is never correct between mates, but... I will do better. I promise you this."

Jason stares. 

Just —

But staring isn't the only thing he's doing, at *all*. He's caressing Aramis with his power again, stroking and petting and — 

Gripping just a little — 

Learning *more* — 

This touch tells him that Aramis doesn't just love horses, but is a very good *rider* — 

This caress tells him that Aramis was *advertising* that day with the book — looking beautiful where potential brothel customers could see him, looking *available* and just dreamy *enough* even as he did his *studies*. 

*This* caress tells him that Aramis is hungry to know what makes Jason's cock ache, hungry to know *everything* that makes Jason's cock ache, so he can perfect those things and *refine* those things, and — 

And d'Herblay clears her throat. 

Aramis turns away from the mirror — but doesn't take his *touch* away from Jason. "I believe he still needs to be convinced on this point, Mother." 

"Does he...?" 

"Yes, I —" 

No. I. *Don't*, Jason says, and uses his *connection* to Aramis to pinpoint the location of Madame Margaud's — 

(What what —) 

The location of d'Herblay's *office* — there. 

He opens a portal and steps *through*. 

"Oh!" Aramis and his mother stand — 

"You were *not* invited," d'Herblay says, from behind her desk. 

Jason inclines his head to both of them. "I do not intend to stay long, Mademoiselle. I am here only to offer gifts," he says, and pulls two of his non-cursed daggers from a storage-pocket — 

"Oh — *how* —" 

"I will teach you, mon grand," Jason says, and rests them on d'Herblay's desk. "These are neither cursed nor possessed. However, once you both sweat on the respective hilts? They will never be able to be turned against you." 

"You're very kind. Should I take this to mean that you *do* intend to court my son...?"

Jason meets her sharp blue gaze. "Yes." 

"I'll take your request under advisement, M'sieu. For now, it's much too late for him to entertain." 

"Maman —" 

"As you say," Jason says, bowing low. "When may I return?" 

"We'll be in touch." 

Jason grins. "And Aramis's lessons...?" 

This time, the light in d'Herblay's eyes is most assuredly a smile. "I'm sure we'll be able to work something out... soon. Until later." 

Jason bows again — 

Takes in Aramis's *stricken* look — 

And steps into the portal. Mon grand... 

(Oh —) 

Shh. You will not ache more than I do. This I *vow*. 

Aramis grunts and caresses *him* — and shares a sweet, silent pleasure that lasts well into his sleep.


	6. She knew what they were doing from the time Aramis woke up.

Jason is doing an absolutely *pathetic* job of pretending to organize one of his libraries when Aramis wakes —

And reaches for him. 

Reaches for him *immediately* — 

Jason grins helplessly and can't help but caress —

Look into the *warm* darkness of Aramis's still-closed eyes — 

(I must be circumspect!) 

Jason hums. And avoid the attention of your mother...? 

(I...) 

Jason laughs hard. I do *not* think I should *help* you misbehave *more*, mon grand...

(*I* think you should laugh like that more.) 

Jason grins. Do you...?

(Oh, yes! Tell me what makes you laugh!) 

People who recognize their own ridiculousness. People who *acknowledge* and *own* their own ridiculousness — and who can and will laugh about it freely, themselves — 

(Oh, yes?) 

*Absolutely*. People like that have given me *incredible* pleasure over the years. 

(You do not like your lovers to have too much *pride*, I see —) 

Oh, no, mon grand, pride is a *must*. It's only *misplaced* pride that I dislike. 

(What is the definition of misplaced pride? To *you*.)

Jason grins. Of course. Pride which does not allow you to recognize your flaws, faults, and, of course, *ridiculousness*. We all have flaws. We all have *faults*. We —

(We are all ridiculous?) 

In our ways, mon grand. The *happiest* people — from all species, spheres, and walks of life — recognize this. 

(And yet *you* are not happy.) 

Jason smiles wryly. Mon grand, the happiest people in the world have *many* secrets. I will teach you all the ones I know. I daresay you'll teach me far, far more. 

Aramis shares *thrill* for that — 

Jason hums — 

(You will let yourself learn from me, Teacher?) 

Of course. 

(This is an of course?) 

You're a brilliant young man — and you have *already* taught me much, mon grand. I have no doubt that you will teach me — 

(What have I taught you!) 

Not to rest on my *laurels*, for one, Jason says, and grins more. 

(What else!) 

Not to make assumptions about what a given person's reactions will be to terrible things — especially when that person has proven to be exceptional in one or more ways. In truth, I've had to learn that lesson *many* times. 

(Oh — but why?) 

Mon grand, *you* already know that the world is *not* crawling with exceptional people.

(I...) 

As a matter of fact, I daresay you already have at least *some* idea of how *rare* people like you and your mother — 

(Do not flatter!) 

I am *not*.

(Then what?) 

Only this: When one is surrounded by the profoundly *unexceptional* for *long* enough — and that need not be very long, at all — it is *very* easy to find oneself *assuming* that *all* people will respond in the same unexceptional ways to what you give them. 

(Even the *students* you take?) 

Jason smiles ruefully. It's easy to forget... well. Not *why* I take students, but what the students *do* for me.

(These are not the same things?) 

I take students for the reasons I have shared. What students do for me... well. Having bright, open-minded, *powerful* people around me who wish to use their power to *learn* and *grow*? Cuts through my cynicism and gives me hope for a brighter tomorrow, whether or not I should allow such things — 

(You *should*. You should *always*.) 

I... 

Aramis glares at him from across their shared connection. 

Aramis... 

(Let me *teach*!) 

It will take more than words to teach me *that* lesson, mon grand. 

(Your life has been bleak, and sere, and cold. This, I know. I will warm you, and bring you light and joy and *hope*. I will show you that such things are possible for *all*, but especially for people like *you*.) 

People like... mon grand, what *about* me makes such things especially likely? My decidedly problematic past? My curses? My tendency to fail at relationships with...

But Aramis is looking at him. 

*Hard*. 

*Viciously*. 

Jason licks his lips — 

*Considers* raising an eyebrow — but. That would be disingenuous. The connection between them will not *let* him be ignorant of why Aramis is upset with him in this moment. 

It...

Aramis... I apologize. You should not have to deal with my — 

(*No*.) 

I... no?

(*No*. You will *not* take yourself away from me.) 

Jason blinks. Then... what?

If anything, the look gets more *forceful*. 

Jason licks his lips again — and *studies* the bond between them —

Oh...

You're... impatient with my self-contempt. 

(Yes, Teacher.) 

You do not feel as though I've earned it...

(This is so.) 

Hm. I...

(You will not convince me that you have —) 

I think... that it would be more accurate to say that I will not convince you that self-contempt is a *useful* collection of emotions. 

Aramis pauses thoughtfully — 

Considers Jason's words —

Caresses Jason not at *all* absently — 

Jason shivers and caresses *him* — 

And Aramis purrs. (Yes, this is so.) 

Must all emotions be useful? 

(No. But we must not *wallow* in the useless emotions which only *hurt* us.) 

I — did your mother teach you this?

(Yes.) 

How did it come up, if I may ask? 

(She did not wish me to *berate* myself for failing at my studies. This is a difficult thing to avoid! But, she was right that doing so caused me to waste time, and to have more difficulty concentrating when I most *wished* to do so! Now you must —) 

Others have tried to teach me that lesson, mon grand, from time to time. 

(I — yes?) 

I have tried to teach *myself* that lesson, with Etrigan's *eager* assistance. 

(Oh! But you *must* —) 

Will you be my lover, mon grand?

(*Yes*, and you will be *mine*. *All* mine, *forever*, and you will never hide from me, or lie to me, or 'protect' me from yourself —) 

Jason growls — I have had no one *like* you. There *is* no one like you. There could *be* no one like you — 

(This is *so* —) 

You will teach me everything, mon grand. And I *will* learn. This I vow. 

(Oh, *Teacher*...) 

Please... only forgive me when I am not *quite* as quick as you. I *promise* to improve my speed, as well. 

Aramis purrs — 

Caresses Jason *everywhere* — 

Jason sends soft kisses through his touches — 

(Oh! How...?)

My shadow-magery allows for certain — 

(How many kinds of magic do you *have*?) 

I was born into a *long* line of blood-mages — that power will *always* be the most natural for me to use, despite the comfort and facility I've gained with other sorts of magery over the years. It's in my *soul*, and I am well-pleased with that. 

(This is why you named yourself Blood?) 

It is *one* of the reasons why I named myself that. Another reason is that I rather like *advertising* who I am — and *what* I am. 

(You like *warning* people.) 

Well... yes. 

(You like giving people the chance to *reject* you before you even speak!) 

I — 

(Do not lie!) 

Jason hums. I like giving *intelligent* people the chance to reject me before I have the chance to grow overly fond of them. 

(Ohh...) 

Yes...? 

(I must think about this.) 

Why so?

(I do not think I *entirely* disagree with it.) 

*Really*. 

(No, my Teacher. It cannot be *entirely* wrong to be *honest* with others, even if you are using honesty as a weapon. I must discuss this with my mother.) 

Jason smiles helplessly. As you say — 

(Tell me about your other kinds of magic!) 

Of course. I gained fire-magery when Etrigan was bound to my soul. Just as I strengthen my blood-magery with the shedding and sharing of blood — 

(You strengthen your fire-magery with flames? How is this? What do you do? Must the flames be blessed?) 

They need only not be *cursed* — and, truly, we can work with most curses. So, truly, so long as the flames are not cursed against *us*? They can feed us. 

(*Oh* —) 

And, as I've said, I haven't been human since Etrigan was bound to me. We can walk *into* any flames we wish, just about — and feed. 

(I wish to see this!)

Absolutely, mon grand. Whenever you — 

And then Claudette d'Herblay clears her *throat* from *very* nearby — 

(Eee —) Aramis opens his eyes — 

And his mother is *looming* over his bed with her arms crossed under her breasts and one eyebrow raised. 

"Good morning, Maman! How —" 

"You are *late*, tricky boy." 

"I apologize —" 

"I know exactly *why* you are late."

"I..." 

"And so you will spend your day — *all* of your day — with *me*." 

"But your clients!" 

"Will have to reschedule," she says and narrows her eyes. 

Jason can feel Aramis wincing — 

He's wincing just as *hard* — 

"Mother, Jason is apologetic."

"Is he." 

"Yes, Mother. He understands the importance of maintaining professionalism." 

d'Herblay raises an eyebrow. "It wasn't the prospect of losing your company for a day that made him regretful...?" 

"No, Mother. He understands the necessity of this for the transgression committed." 

"More than you do?" 

"... yes, Mother." 

d'Herblay cocks her head to the side. "Will this one be *too* well-behaved for you?" 

Aramis hums and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I was able to seduce him into poor behaviour very quickly *this* morning..." 

"Were you." 

"Oh, yes, Mother. He will be more firm with me in the future in recognition of *your* needs, but..." Aramis spreads his hands. "I am not concerned about this." 

d'Herblay pushes a hand into Aramis's hair and *grips* — 

Aramis purrs deep inside himself — and focuses more *keenly*, as well. 

"My son. The strongest dogs must be kept on the shortest leads." 

"You have taught me this, and I have *learned*." 

"You mean for *his* lead to be a gentle one...?" 

"He has not had *enough* gentleness, Mother. His life is harsh and violent and *cold*. When I caress him? He shivers like a *boy*." 

Jason *coughs* — 

Etrigan is *thundering* laughter again — 

But d'Herblay's eyes darken. 

"Mother?" 

"How do you mean to make love with my son, Blood." 

Oh — in any and *every* way that pleases us *both*, Mademoiselle. 

"He has *many* fixations, Mother — wide and varied! I do not think I have seen so many in one man!" 

That's not — I didn't *say* that — 

Aramis waves a hand. "He will always try to *hide* his more *outré* fixations from me lest I feel *pressured* or *manipulated*. He has forgotten how I was trained, Mother." 

It will not be *pleasurable* for me if you don't enjoy it, *too*. No matter what it *is*. 

Aramis cocks his head. 

"Yes, tricky boy...?" 

"He is a man who prefers to serve his lovers. He would not prefer to submit himself to most of his lovers, but..." 

"He needs to provide them with what *they* need, most of all, yes, I see," d'Herblay says, and nods. "Do you suppose he learned that from his Ser Darwyn?" 

I — 

"Yes, Mother. It is clear from the *feel* of the memories within Jason that Ser Darwyn *also* served." 

He was a *knight*! And — so am I.

(Always, my Teacher?) 

Jason smiles ruefully. Always. 

Aramis nods. "My Jason, my *Teacher*, is a knight above all other things." 

"Will he be *your* knight, tricky boy...?" 

And that — 

There is an *ache* for that — 

A hunger and pleasure and impossible *yearning* that he doesn't hide *quickly* enough — 

Aramis's heart is pounding — 

He's panting — 

Jason can feel his *flush* — oh, Aramis, I — 

(Do not apologize!) 

Aramis, please don't — 

"Mother, he *desires* this thing. He desires it more — I have never felt such passion!" 

"Is he hiding it from you now?" 

"Yes — and he tried to apologize, but I will not *let* him. He must know how — how *beautiful*..." Aramis turns toward a mirror and shows Jason his wide eyes, his bright and *wild* eyes — "*Give* this to me, my Teacher! My *knight* —" 

*Fuck* — 

"What should I call you, mm? What will make your blood *sing* for me for *all* your days?" 

Jason pants — 

*Growls* — 

Stands — 

And pulls one of his uncursed bastard swords out of a storage pocket before dropping to his knees in front of the mirror, proffering the blade in his two hands.

Aramis beams, sharing his thrill, his triumph, his *wild* hunger — 

"*Tell* me, tricky boy —" 

"He has *knelt* to me, Mother! With his sword —" 

"Will you take it?" 

"*Yes* —" 

"*Wait*," d'Herblay says, and her voice is *hard*. "Will you *take* it — and everything that comes with it? He is either immortal or *functionally* so. He is more powerful than you will *ever* be. He will be handsome and strong and *vital* when *you* are old and grey and *stooped*." 

Aramis *flinches* — 

Jason growls again — I will never *leave* you!

But Aramis only shudders.

Aramis, what is it? Please *tell* me —

(I must. I must always be beautiful for my *lover*.) 

I want you to be *more* to me than only a *lover* — 

(*I* — )

— and that is what your *mother* wanted for you when she *summoned* me in the first place. 

Aramis flushes — "He has gained wisdom, Mother." 

"Oh, yes? How so." 

"He *understands* what it means that we were connected only after you summoned a mate for me..." 

d'Herblay hums. "And how do *you* feel about that, tricky boy...?" 

Aramis looks down at the floor —

But d'Herblay tugs *hard* on his hair — 

And Aramis immediately takes a *deep* breath and looks up. "Yes, Mother. I... I do not know what it will be *like* to be a toothless old man looking across the breakfast table at... at *him*." 

I will love you until you're *dust*!

"He is telling me — he is making promises, such promises, and he is a man who *keeps* his promises! I feel this thing! But. He does not understand that it only makes me worry about how he will *feel* about his promises in the future." 

Jason grunts — 

d'Herblay raises her eyebrow at the mirror — 

And Aramis smiles ruefully. 

That — no. Aramis, the only thing which could make me regret having a relationship with you — being your *mate* — is if I were to do something which *hurt* you in a way you *disliked*, or *caused* you to be hurt in a way you disliked. 

Aramis blinks — 

Blinks several times *rapidly* — 

Licks his lips — and smiles sweetly into the mirror. (Yes, Teacher.) And then he turns back to his mother. "He... he will never regret me, Mother." 

d'Herblay strokes the blush on Aramis's cheek with her free hand and hums. "Aramis must wash and dress, and then have breakfast, M'sieu. I would suggest you spend the next little while getting in touch with your Master of Accounts —" 

Aramis *coughs* — 

"— as we will have matters of some import to discuss," she finishes, and raises a pointed eyebrow. 

Jason smiles. "Of course, Mademoiselle. I'll have the information waiting for you." 

"I — I — he is fully aware that you know that he has no Master of Accounts!" 

"Good. Close the connection." 

"I — Mother —" 

"Do it now, tricky boy. *You* will be composing my correspondence today." 

"Oh — yes, Mother!" And Aramis turns to the mirror and smiles. "One day I will *take* that sword from your *hands*, my Teacher!" 

Jason exhales smoke and shadows and lets them twist and coil into a love-knot in front of him in the mirror. 

Aramis giggles — and caresses him sweetly, warmly, and just a little firmly even as he pulls back — 

And pulls back — 

And breaks the connection, precisely as his mother had ordered. 

Jason can *feel* how he might reconnect them again with a moment's reach, and of course he could just *go* there, but — 

But. He will behave. 

And tot up his accounts. 

_What do you suppose *is* a proper bride price for a partially-trained courtesan-mage?_

All of the pearls in the ocean?

_Blood._

No, you're absolutely right: All of the stars in the *sky*. 

_I believe my lunch is disagreeing with me._

This is why I try to wait to eat my meals until they can no longer form cogent arguments *against* it, my companion. 

_I suppose you're going to want some of my gems._

I...

_I suppose you're going to want some of the especially well-*formed* gems._

Well...

_The Nemadi codex is mine now._

You know you can borrow it whenever you —

_Did you say you didn't need any gems, at all? Well, all right —_

Jason sighs. It's yours. 

_I thought you'd see it my way._

It's disgusting how many missions you take for those damned earth-elementals — 

_You only say that because they think you smell like manure._

Jason scowls — 

_They'd be willing to put up with that if you had a better disposition._

Jason scowls *harder* — 

_If it makes you feel better, earth-*mages* still like *you* more._

Jason smiles — 

_Somehow._


	7. It's important to understand the family you're marrying into.

Six *hours* have passed since Aramis had closed the connection, and, in that time, Jason has managed to visit *all* of the banks he does business with on this sphere. 

It was only necessary to put the fear of *himself* into three individuals, which is *wildly* suspicious — he doesn't *do* these visits nearly often enough — but things had *generally* appeared to be going well. 

He'd also had time to visit a few of his larger properties, and... well. 

They're not doing very well, at all. This isn't surprising in the *least*, considering the fact that it's been at least half a century since any of them have been *staffed*. 

What was he *thinking* — 

_That you would live out your days alone except for me and whatever students you could coax to share *temporary* abodes with you for *brief* periods of time._

I'm a melancholic arse, aren't I. 

_It's part of your charm._

Is it?

_No._

Jason snorts and opens a portal to his stables. He's never depressive when he's *there*. 

_You're often worryingly excited when you're there._

Shut it. 

Etrigan hums — 

They step through — 

And Jason surrenders their form to Etrigan so that he can discuss their ongoing arrangement with the lesser elementals and earth-spirits who care for the horses when Jason isn't here to spoil them. 

A roiling pile of pebbles opines that Jason had smelled less like shite than usual — 

A small chunk of malachite asks Etrigan if he'd finally convinced Jason to bathe — 

Etrigan chides them gently and shares the news that Jason is now part of a mated pair — 

The pebbles ask if Etrigan has met the mate — 

The malachite asks if the mate likes horses — 

Etrigan says that the mate will almost certainly be joining them there in the near future, as he is a young human witch who *loves* horses at least as much as Jason does — 

The malachite asks if he smells. 

Etrigan says he smells delicious. 

Both the pebbles and malachite nod judiciously and tell Etrigan to congratulate Jason for them, and to give him their best wishes, because, after all, the All-Mother always says that having a mate can improve anyone. 

They then depart. 

_I can hear you thinking about cursing them._

And?

_It's petty._

Only if I actually *do* it. 

_Thinking about it as hard as you're doing is still quite petty, I assure you._

It is *not*. 

_It truly —_

And then Aramis reaches for Jason — and finds Etrigan. 

Well. 

That — 

(Oh! Oh — you are Etrigan!) 

_I am indeed. And you are Aramis. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance._

(Is it?) 

Etrigan rumbles like *boiling* stone. _Yes. Blood's been positively effervescent — for him — since he's met you. It's been wonderful._

(You call him Blood? Not anything else?) 

_I call him Blood most of the time, yes. But I do call him other things, such as 'my friend', and, occasionally, 'Jason'._

(When do you call him by his name!) 

_When I want him to stop blithering and listen._

Jason *coughs* — 

(I see! Tell me... tell me...) 

_Yes...?_

(Everything!) 

_Hm. Perhaps you could narrow your focus for the sake of conversational clarity...?_

(I will do this! Has my Teacher always been your friend?) 

_No. I vastly resented being forced to share a soul with another being, and losing the freedom of having my own *body* whenever I wished to have it. I took that out on Blood, at first — after we were free of Morgan._

(Ohh... how did you take it out on him?) 

_I was quite cruel. Malicious in my taunts. I picked at his most grievous wounds —_

(Oh, no!) 

As I picked at his, mon grand. I had learned nothing good of demons during the twenty years of my existence prior to that point, and the fact that Etrigan had made common cause with me rather than be *enslaved*... well, it hadn't recommended him to me all that *much*. The only *other* demons I knew about were the ones *Morgan* had made cause with in order to *obliterate* Arthur's host. 

I was a very prejudiced young man, and I was grieving, and I was angry, and I was... hurt. 

I had *nothing* of any worth to say to Etrigan. 

_As I had nothing of any worth to say to Jason... until the All-Mother swallowed my spirit whole and began to tell me what was wrong with my entire... approach. I had spent the whole of my life on what Jason calls the hell-spheres —_

(What do you call them! And I could feel that the All-Mother is a *goddess* — please tell me *more*!) 

_At the time, I only called them home. But... they are the places where many of the species commonly lumped under the term 'demon' dwell. Magic-users, children of gods such as myself —_

(You are a *demigod*?) 

_Hm. Not as you define the term. My powers are magical, but not divine in nature. The All-Mother — my mother — has *countless* children. I am one of her eldest *surviving* children, but I am still not a god._

(Oh...) 

He is also not an *earth*-mage, unlike the *vast* majority of the All-Mother's children. The seed she fertilized herself with must have been *remarkable*. 

(Oh.) 

_Yes, Aramis?_

(I... no. It is not important!) 

Another humming rumble — _You're surprised that I don't know my father._

(I...) 

Etrigan thunders a laugh. _Such things are far less important when one's *mother* is the Mother of All._

(When you say that she is the Mother of All...) 

_She is the Mother of — nearly — every living being on *most* of the spheres, Aramis. Some of us are *more* Her child than others are — as an example, the average human earth-mage is more Her child than the average human spirit-mage —_

(I see! But... who is *not* her child on *this* sphere?) 

_The shadow-being which came to existence within the soul Jason and I share. Neither of us are entirely certain how he came to be — or even certain if the being is male —_

(Oh — but —) 

He is like nothing we have *ever* seen *anywhere*, mon grand — and we have searched, and hunted, and *studied*. 

_Indeed. What we do know with certainty is that when he came to us, he brought with him a massive burgeoning of shadow-magery. Neither of us had had any facility with that sort of magery before that point._

Neither of us had had so much of a *spark* of that sort of magery, mon grand — and yet suddenly we could detach shadows from ourselves to do our bidding, and open portals to other *spheres*. The possibilities were practically limitless — and quite terrifying.

(Why — but you didn't know where the shadow-being had come from. And — he didn't tell you? You couldn't be sure of his honesty?) 

Jason and Etrigan smile wryly together. 

(Oh, tell me! Tell me!) 

He does not speak with us, mon grand. 

(I — you have fought? You were cruel again?) 

_Not that. We had both rather matured long before the shadow-being came to us._

Quite. When he came... well, we were in the middle of a battle. We were at the *end* of our reserves of power, and we were *very* close to being summarily *slaughtered* — 

_And then, abruptly, we were hale. Strong. Filled with power we knew how to use from what we'd learned over the decades and centuries from other mages, and desperate enough not to think about the origins very deeply._

Perhaps that was our mistake, Jason says. Perhaps, in that moment, we should have reached out in communication rather than in desperate greed — 

_Jason._

Jason sighs. We were, of course, *moments* away from death. I don't know, mon grand. He is there, within us. When I am in your presence again, I will teach you to look at us with your power, to see a person's *true* self. 

This will allow you to see the shadow-being as he appears to us — and as he allows *me* to appear when I take his form for the more complex and taxing shadow-workings. But he does not communicate with us in any way that we have been able to discern, and when Etrigan has *asked* the All-Mother about him...

_All She has been able — or willing — to tell me is that the shadow-being means us no harm, and that we must remain patient — and always, always work together._

The latter is no hardship at this late date. The former... well. I believe *you* know very well just how difficult it can be to remain *patient*. 

(Oh — *yes*, my Teacher. *Yes*, Etrigan.) 

Etrigan hums. _What else may we tell you?_

(I... the All-Mother stopped you from being cruel to my Teacher?) 

_I had never known Mother to be *ashamed* of me before, Aramis. *I* believe you know precisely —_

(I! I understand this very well! I could *never* — ah. My Teacher was *also* the All-Mother's child.) 

_Just so._

(Did she speak to you, too, my Teacher?) 

Jason laughs. She didn't have to, mon grand. Ser Darwyn noticed my countenance brightening when the All-Mother *scruffed* Etrigan and asked what had happened. I — finally — told him about all the *fighting* Etrigan and I had been doing — and he pulled me up short for it. 

It was something of a rude awakening, as he'd been nothing but gentle with me since I'd gone to him — nothing but *coddling* with me, truly — but for this? 

For *this*, I was all but a misbehaving boy again — as opposed to his lover. 

(As well you should have been!) 

Just *so*. Ser Darwyn knew less of demons than *I* did, but he knew when *I* was acting like a petulant child rather than a knight — or even a *grieving* knight. 

He knew the best of me *and* the worst of me. 

He knew *everything* I was capable of, and I... 

I always wanted to give him my best, Jason says, and smiles ruefully. And so that is what I did, as *soon* as Etrigan came back. 

_We nearly came to blows fighting over which of us had been more loathsome to the other._

(I.) 

Happily, we were capable of discerning abject ridiculousness when it was right in front of our faces. 

_It was the first time a human had made me laugh._

It was the first time I *had* laughed — truly laughed — since the end of Arthur's host. I then wept *again*, of course. 

_I teased that he would extinguish me._

I made an utterly undignified honking noise... and we realized, together, that this was something that could work. 

_Improbably and inconveniently... but pleasantly, as well._

Just so. 

And Aramis — caresses *both* of them. 

Etrigan blinks. 

Jason hums — 

(No?)

_I..._

(Do you not like being petted, Etrigan?) 

_I... am usually on fire..._

(Oh, yes?) 

_Yes —_

(Then it is *better* to pet you this way!) And Aramis caresses them both again. *Aggressively*. 

Etrigan quivers. 

Jason tries, very hard, to guffaw as obnoxiously as possible. 

Etrigan glares hard enough through the wall between them that Jason can feel himself getting *warmer* — 

He clears his throat. Shall we speak to your mother now?


	8. Maybe you want to think things through, Aramis? A little? No...? Okay.

"So. What you are saying is that you have only *one* non-rented property which is in good repair." 

Jason winces — 

"He is wincing, Mother." 

"Mm. In addition, this *single* property is in England." 

Jason squirms — 

"He is squirming, Mother." 

"In *addition*, this *single*, *British* property is *infested* with malignant eldritch creatures which will almost certainly try to devour my *son*." 

I will — 

"He promises to buy another property in Paris immediately, Mother." 

And I — 

"He will also buy properties wherever else seems appropriate to both of us." 

d'Herblay raises an eyebrow. "Including here, in the heart of Paris?"

Of course — 

"He worries about finding stables large enough for the number of horses he plans to give me, Mother." 

Jason *coughs* — but that's entirely true —

"Where does he keep his horses *now*, tricky boy...?" 

"On another sphere, Mother! It — it — strange *beings* take care of them for him when he is not there, and —" 

d'Herblay raises a hand. "Will the horses take to *human* riders?" 

"Ohh..." And *both* Aramis and d'Herblay focus on him expectantly. 

Jason smiles into his mirror. They would *not* take to inexperienced riders, but I have been able to discern that Aramis is excellent with horses, Mademoiselle. If I may ask, what sort of horses would *you* prefer?

Aramis thrills — and hums. "His horses will take me, Mother. He has assumed you ride, as well..." 

She cocks her head to the side and gives *nothing* away. "Why is this?" 

Jason grins. Because I do *not* think Aramis would *let* you remain ignorant of something he holds so dear.

"He is being very wise, Mother." 

d'Herblay hums. "Good. I prefer horses of *even* temperament, and rather fewer driving passions than my son." 

As you — 

"He has *several* *beautiful* horses just like this! Oh — oh, Jason, do you prefer horses that are —" 

d'Herblay clears her throat — 

Aramis sits straight — 

Gives his mother a *pleading* look — 

We must *behave*, mon grand. I promise to give you hours — *days* — at my stables, when it is time for it. 

(Oh —) Aramis stops pleading and waits. 

d'Herblay looks at her son *wryly*. "He promised you much time with horses?" 

"When it was *time* for it, Mother. He reminded me that we must behave properly until then." 

"And you needed to hear those words from someone else, Aramis...?" 

Aramis's eyes widen dramatically — "I! Maman! I would *never* —" 

d'Herblay laughs throatily, pushing one hand into Aramis's hair and *gripping* — 

"Yes — yes, *please*, Maman —" 

"Almost. Almost my tricky boy is a tricky *man*." 

Aramis *grunts* — 

Flushes *deeply* — 

"Please —" And he grunts again as d'Herblay *tugs* on his hair. 

"You will always be *my* tricky boy, Aramis —" 

"*Yes* —" 

"Now let us finish our negotiations with your mate, mm?" 

"Yes, Mother, I will be *good*." 

"Of course you will," she says, tugging one last time and stroking her way through the waves of his hair — 

He hugs her tightly around her slim waist — 

And they both focus on him through the mirror. 

You both have my *full* attention. 

"He is listening well, Mother." 

"M'sieu," d'Herblay says, "while I have dreamed many times of taking my Aramis into the countryside and raising and training and *teaching* him there, away from the bustle and temptations and *violence* of the city... mm." She tugs his hair sharply and raises an eyebrow. 

He is not, truly, suited for a bucolic existence, no, but... there are things which he can only *be* taught in the countryside — things which *both* of us can only teach him there, I daresay?

"He understands, Mother." 

She nods once. "You will take *suitable* rooms in the city — the *quieter* parts of the city — and you will raise and staff a home in the countryside. The latter need not be *excessively* grand — Aramis will not be spending much time there — but...?" 

The homes I take will be *entirely* worthy of my mate — and his mother. 

Aramis thrills — 

Beams — 

"Yes, tricky boy?"

"Mother, he intends for all of us to live together! He will not take no for an answer!" 

d'Herblay colours —

The hand she *doesn't* have in Aramis's hair twitches at her side — 

And the hand she *does* have in Aramis's hair tightens almost viciously for a moment.

Aramis does not so much as wince —

"M'sieu, is there something in particular you would like me to *do* in your homes?" 

Yes. Whatever you would *like* to do — including, hopefully, continuing to educate *both* Aramis and me.

Aramis grins like a *madman* — "He wishes you to be *yourself*, Mother. He wishes you to train me as you have *always* trained me, and he wishes you to continue to train *him* when *I* do not —"

"No," she says, curt and sharp. 

"Mother?" 

"I have taught you *all* you must know to train your mate, tricky boy. I will *not* take that from you. Not *ever*." 

Aramis flushes and *blinks* — 

Swallows — 

And nods. "*Yes*, Maman. But —" 

She tugs Aramis's hair again and smiles gently. "I will come with you, tricky boy. I... I would never let you go, if I did not have to." 

Aramis squeezes her tighter, burying his face in against her skirts for long moments. 

The scents of her — wonderful — perfume and human musk fill Jason's senses, and he allows himself to enjoy them *precisely* as much as Aramis is doing. 

After a time, d'Herblay lifts Aramis's head away from her and turns him toward the mirror. 

He waits expectantly for her instruction — 

And Jason keeps himself — 

"He is patient, Mother." 

"Is this natural to him?" 

I— 

"He has taught himself this over the *years*, Mother." 

"Has he taught himself to tolerate... grasping family members?" 

"You are *not* —" 

"What does *he* say, tricky boy." 

"He does *not* believe you are grasping. He believes you are *strong* and *beautiful* and *wise* and *loving* and *attractive* —" 

Jason coughs — 

"He was hoping I had not noticed that he felt this." 

"Oh, yes, tricky boy?" 

"Yes. He is accustomed to people who have very narrow ideas of what is appropriate, my Mother." 

d'Herblay raises an eyebrow at her *son* —

Aramis looks back *blandly* — 

They are looking at each other with their profiles to the mirror, deliberately sharing this moment *with* Jason — 

(*Yes*, my Teacher. Watch well!) 

And then d'Herblay colours and smiles warmly. "Tricky boy..." 

"Yes, my Mother?" 

"You are *precisely* the man I have raised you to be," she says, and tugs his hair — 

Strokes his cheek — 

Strokes his chin and mouth — 

"Yes, my Mother, I *am*. I *always* will be — and I will always be *yours*."

"In part, Aramis. In *part*." 

Aramis parts his lips — and then smiles wryly. "Yes, my Mother. I *also* belong to Jason now." 

"Yes, you do," she says, stroking his cheek again and narrowing her eyes in pleasure. "My tricky boy." 

"Yes, my Mother?" 

"What is your mate thinking in *this* moment?"

Jason leans *in* — 

Aramis grins *wickedly*. "That he is *unsure* whether or not he wishes me to *know* that he is the sort of man who wagers on things like the likelihood of incest occurring with *witnesses*." 

d'Herblay laughs delightedly. "*And*, tricky boy?" 

"That he is *happy* with whatever course we *choose*, my Mother — so long as *we* are happy." 

Jason forces himself to breathe slowly, carefully — 

To not *push* — 

To not — 

Aramis purses his lips. 

"Yes...?" 

"He does not wish to guide us in any way, my Mother." 

"You don't care for this."

"My mate must be firm with me..." Aramis frowns. "But not you; this is so. I will not be angry with him." 

d'Herblay nods, and moves her hands from Aramis's face and hair. 

"My Mother?" 

She *folds* her hands in front of her — and raises an eyebrow. 

"My Mother... wishes *me* to make a choice." 

d'Herblay inclines her head. 

"My Mother wishes me to make *the* choice? For always?" 

"It is *properly* yours to make, my son. Today — and all days." 

Aramis inhales sharply and nods. "I do not live in a fairy story." 

"You do not." 

"I do not — one choice today does not determine the course of all days." 

"It does not." 

Aramis nods again, slowly — and reaches for *him*. 

Jason reaches back. What do you need, mon grand?

(What would you do?) 

I do not know that my advice would be helpful in this moment... 

(*Please*. You have had a mother, a good mother —) 

My mother was not... Jason shakes his head. The only things my mother had in common with yours were power and ruthlessness, mon grand. She was not especially loving, or warm. Not to me. 

(Oh.) 

Jason smiles ruefully and caresses Aramis. I do have thoughts for you which may or may *not* be — 

(Tell me!) 

This... it will change everything about your world. You *think* you've already changed everything, but you have not, truly, crossed a line — not yet. 

(How do you *know*?) 

I have spoken to *many* other people who have had incestuous relationships, mon grand. I became hopelessly fixated on the topic once I — belatedly — realized that Ser Darwyn had been more of a parent to me than anyone could *ever* wish for. And I don't *think* my words are *entirely* unfamiliar to you...?

(I... please go on!) 

Very well. You have not crossed a *line*. You have not gone beyond the bounds you have both set for yourselves — and I know you *wish* to say that you had set *no* boundaries beyond which your mother could not go, and that she had set no boundaries beyond which *you* could not go, but — 

(We did. We... did.) 

Yes. We all do, mon grand. And the truth is that you and your mother set *stronger*, more *solid* walls between yourselves than many parents and children do — 

(No! I — *no*!) 

That was *not* a criticism. If I thought there was harm in your relationship with your mother, I would not *encourage* you to be close to her, and I would do everything I could to *separate* you from her —

(Then *what*?) 

This: You and your mother have built a relationship of mutual love, devotion, and *respect*. You acknowledge each other's desires, hopes, dreams, needs, fears — everything. And you work to *ease*. You work to *salve* them. But the important thing for *this* moment is that you acknowledge that *her* needs and et cetera are not necessarily *yours*, and that *she* acknowledges that *your* needs and et cetera are not necessarily *hers*. You both do that *easily* and near-*instinctively*. 

I believe we can agree that many families *fail* at this as a matter of course? Certainly, *my* blood-family did. 

(I — yes. Yes. But —)

*But*, what *incest* does is *change* the boundaries. It adds new needs, new desires, new *everything*. It changes the meaning of a touch — it adds *new* meanings to a touch, and those meanings will never, ever go away. 

You can never go back — and I am *not* saying that this is something you'll regret. On the contrary, any number of the people I've discussed this with have viewed the fact that the incest utterly *destroyed* their former relationships — 

(As. A good thing?) 

As a *wonderful* thing, mon grand. But they never lost touch with the fact that it *did* do that thing. 

Aramis caresses him and nods thoughtfully. 

d'Herblay stands patiently, obviously aware that her son is seeking advice elsewhere, but keeping her own counsel about that. 

(I do not believe my mother, my good mother...) 

Yes, mon grand? 

(She does not want me to think about *her* feelings. She does *not*. 

No...? 

(She would not have done *this* — not this way — if she wanted me to think about her, about rejecting her...) Aramis frowns. 

Hm. 

(She knows I will do this anyway.) 

Of course. 

(She knows *me*.) 

Oh, yes. 

(She has *built* me.) 

Yes. 

(She has built me... for this *moment*...) Aramis frowns more deeply. 

Jason says nothing —

(But you are *thinking* — I am not the first person you have known who has been raised by their parent to be a *lover*.) 

Oh, dear. Was I that obvious? 

(No. I am a very intelligent boy.) 

Jason coughs a laugh — sobers himself. Yes, mon grand. You *are*. And this — all of this — may be something you need *time* to think about. And I believe — 

(That that is something Mother understood when she said I could make the choice today and — all other days.) 

Just so. 

Aramis says nothing for long moments — 

He is still *frowning* — 

Jason holds him with his power, strokes and comforts as best as he can — and the strangest thing in this moment is that d'Herblay is not moving to offer comfort, herself. 

It goes against *everything* he has learned of her in this last little while, and — 

(She will *not* do anything to influence my decision, my Teacher.) 

— of course. Jason sighs and holds Aramis more tightly. 

(She is teaching me to cleave to you, as well.) 

Jason squeezes his eyes shut —

(*She* has made her decision.) 

Has she? 

(She is thinking of the breakfast table, my Teacher. And how I will look at her when her breasts soften, and her belly is not so firm —) Aramis growls and stands. "*Mother*." 

"My son." 

"Mother, you have — you have — you cannot *do* this!" 

d'Herblay only looks at Aramis with wide, pain-darkened eyes. 

Aramis clenches his hands into fists and growls again. "You have raised me to be *yours*. You have raised me — *you* are *mine*!" 

"I am." 

Aramis inhales — 

Pauses — 

And nods. "So. You will *not* leave me. You will not — not *manipulate* me into leaving *you*."

d'Herblay turns away, squeezing her eyes shut.

Aramis shudders — and nods again. "Other men have left you. *All* of them have left you. Left *us*. I am not those men, my Mother. *You* have made certain of this." 

d'Herblay stiffens. 

"I will not regret you, my Mother," Aramis says, and reaches for her hands — 

Pauses —

And then reaches for her face, cupping it and turning her to face him again, bending her *down* to face him. "You are mine. I am yours. This will *never* change, my Mother. No matter what else does." 

d'Herblay's eyes are damp — and then they seem almost to *blaze*. "*My* son," she says, and pushes *both* hands into his hair. "I will *never* release you from my grasp."

"*Good* —" 

"Tell me what you want, tricky boy. Please do this now." 

Aramis pants — and immediately pulls his mother down into a *bruising* kiss. She returns it hotly, smoothly, *passionately* — 

And Aramis tears himself back with a wounded look.

d'Herblay raises an eyebrow slightly — 

*Studies* her son — 

Aramis *whimpers* — 

d'Herblay nods, and caresses Aramis's face. 

"No — I — my Mother, I do not *deserve* —" 

"My son. There is more than one part of you which must make a decision." 

"I —" 

"We will always have each other. There can be no other option for the two of us —" 

"No! No, there cannot!" 

d'Herblay nods once, and strokes Aramis's cheek again. "Listen to me very carefully, Aramis, because I am going to use words that I usually would not." 

"Oh — yes!" 

"We have time." 

Aramis blinks. "Mother?" 

"We have *time*," d'Herblay says. "You will grow into even more of a tricky man, and I will *still* be your Mother —" 

"I — I am not *slow*! I am not a slow *student* —" 

"And this is not your studies, Aramis. This is different, and it was wrong of me to treat it that way." 

"Mother... my Mother..." 

d'Herblay smiles ruefully. "I will always be your Mother, Aramis, but I am also a *woman*. I have loved no man more than my tricky boy, and love makes everyone foolish, and fearful, from time to time. Remember this." 

"I will! But my Mother, I will need to *talk* about this. I — I have many *questions*." 

"I will answer all of them. I promise." 

Aramis narrows his eyes. "You mean to leave me now." 

d'Herblay nods again. 

"Maman, do you *grieve*." 

"Not in the way that you are thinking." 

"*Maman* —"

"*Aramis*. It isn't a terrible pain. It..." She shakes her head. "Love is painful, from time to time. Even when you have learned all of its tricks." 

Aramis narrows his eyes even *more*, and Jason can't say he blames him — 

Jason does his best to *bolster* Aramis — 

"I wish. I wish to search you with my *power*, Mother." 

*That* takes d'Herblay's calm away, and she looks only hurt, only *wounded* for a moment. "Did your mate tell you that we would change, my Aramis?" 

Aramis blinks rapidly. "He. He did — oh, Mother, I *apologize* —" 

She throws up a hand. "Search me. Please." 

"*No* —" 

"Do it. We must trust each other again." 

Aramis shudders — and sends out the very lightest and warmest of reaches with his power. 

Jason can tell how deft it is — 

And Jason can feel Aramis's mingled relief and puzzlement. "My Mother... please explain." 

d'Herblay laughs softly, wipes away a tear with effortless grace. "Understand, my Aramis — it is not that your kiss wasn't perfect. You have learned well — and I knew that long before you ever touched me." 

"Is it that you wanted a different touch? A different kind of — why — why are you still *frightened*?" 

"Anything from you, my Aramis. *Anything* —" 

"But —" 

"*But*, my Aramis, you *touched* me. You *kissed* me. You *chose* me. And you did not pull back because you changed your mind," she says, and smiles *sharply*. 

"I..." 

"My tricky boy. My *love*. You pulled back because you *realized* that you had chosen me. My tricky boy will *always* be just that much faster than his own heart, his own *soul*. And we *both* forgot that tonight." 

"Oh." And Aramis blinks rapidly and nods. "I chose you... but I *still* needed time." 

"Yes." 

"It — please," Aramis says. "Please." 

"My Aramis, what do you need?" 

"How much *time* will I need?" 

Her smile softens again. 

"You do not know." 

"No, my Aramis." 

Aramis frowns. "I do not think I will still be your Aramis if I need very much time —" 

She presses two fingers to his mouth. "You will always, *always* be *mine*. Whether or *not* we *ever* make love." 

Aramis shivers — 

Moans — 

*Shudders* — 

Jason can't *not* stroke Aramis — 

And Aramis clutches him. 

d'Herblay cocks her head to the side and moves her fingers. "Did he reach for you...?" 

"He caressed me, my Mother. And I clutched him to myself." 

She smiles again. "Think for a moment, my Aramis." 

"I..." And then Aramis blinks rapidly again. "I. I did not reach for you." 

"No." 

"I did not — not when I needed *comfort* — oh, Maman —" 

"Shh. I have been losing you — losing my *love* — for quite some time now —" 

"*No*!" 

"Yes. A part of me knew that you would always be a part of my life in *some* way, that you would never *truly* leave the way all the others have —" 

"I will *not* —" 

"But. There is no greed like love's greed, my Aramis. You have been everything to me." 

"And. You have been everything to me, but now — now I also have..." Aramis swallows. "Why did you call a mate for me, Maman? Why if you did not *want* me to cleave to another?" 

d'Herblay smiles wryly. "I am not only a woman, my Aramis — I am a mother. A mother knows when her son is about to throw himself at the world of *unsuitable* lovers and have his heart broken again and *again*. A mother knows when her son is ready for a *mate* to *settle* him." 

"But if it was not what you *wanted* —" 

"It was what we both *needed*." 

Aramis frowns — 

And d'Herblay smiles ruefully. "Always my tricky boy looks just that way for his medicine... but I believe you feel much better about Jason than you do about a mustard poultice." 

"I!" 

Jason hums despite himself — 

Aramis clutches him tighter — 

Jason caresses him and *warms* him — 

And Aramis shivers — 

"Yes, my Aramis?" 

"My mate. My mate is very warm."

d'Herblay nods, and steps back. "Go to our room, my Aramis." 

"I — what?" 

She smiles ruefully and wryly at once. "Yes. I still have much correspondence to work on... and you must begin telling your mate how you wish for him to *decorate* your homes." 

"No." 

"Aramis —" 

"You will not *dismiss* me, my Mother. Not like this." 

d'Herblay inhales deeply — and exhales with a nod. "Then speak, my Aramis. What may I give you?" 

"I am not certain — no. No. I must know more about your fear, and about what *you* want. Please. I must know." 

"There is nothing more true, more proper, more *correct*, than a mother raising her son *to* leave her, my Aramis. I have not done this, and so I fear that I have irrevocably harmed you —" 

"*No* —" 

"At the same time, you have always made it abundantly clear that you wished more freedom from me, more space from my *side*." 

"I..." 

"*This* means that I have not done a good enough *job* of raising you to be my love, despite — sometimes — doing my best to do so." 

Aramis grunts. "Maman..." 

"I fear my incompetence. I fear my capacity to redouble my *efforts* as you move *on*. I fear my desire to be a *good* mother and *send* you on with one hand even as I *grip* with the other. I fear your contempt as you see all my efforts, all my *workings* with your inner and outer eyes, as you can't *help* but see my webs tightening around you... and suddenly your beautiful, brave, wise, et cetera mother is nothing but a spider." She raises an eyebrow. "There are other fears, but those are the worst of them. As for what I want... I want you, my Aramis. I want you *with* me. Always. In whatever form that takes." 

"My Mother..." 

"Yes?" 

"I wish..." 

"What do you wish?" 

Aramis frowns direfully and *flings* himself into his mother's arms — and d'Herblay does not hesitate before squeezing him tightly and burying her face in his hair. After a moment, the two of them begin whispering fervently in Caló, and — 

Aramis, I still understand — 

(This we know, my Teacher. Still, I thank you.) 

Jason strokes Aramis and does his *best* not to listen to Aramis's promises of devotion, to d'Herblay's vows to always make sure Aramis has the best from her and the rest of the *universe* — 

But it's impossible not to feel d'Herblay's shudders — 

Aramis's confused *hunger* — 

Aramis's desperate need for *clarity* within his own mind and *spirit* — 

Aramis's desperate need for... well. 

d'Herblay's soft hands are on every place her *son* wants them and none of the places her *lover* wants them, and that...

Aramis is hard, and aching, and in a moment he will *tell* his mother that, and then — 

(She will not.) 

No...? 

(She will not, because I would beg her as a boy, not demand as a *man*.) 

Must her lover be a man? 

(Yes. She was done with *boys* before she gave *birth* to me,) Aramis says, and pulls back from his mother, and takes her hands in his, and kisses her knuckles — every last one of them — before kissing her palms. 

"Yes, my Aramis?" She is speaking French again. 

"I wish to think, my Mother, and be with my mate, and, perhaps, rest." 

"Then you must do so," she says, and strokes through his hair before folding her hands in front of herself. 

"My Mother... I do not wish for you to stop *calling* me tricky boy. I believe a part of me will *always* be a boy, long after all my physical boyishness is gone."

"My tricky boy is wise. Truly, we only become *more* ourselves as we age." 

"This is so, my Mother. And I will become more yours, and *you* will become more mine." 

"Oh, yes, my tricky boy," she says, and looks at him with open, naked covetousness for a moment — 

It makes Aramis breathe easier — 

And then she nods, and he walks out.


	9. Jason is always going to find it soothing to teach. Aramis is always going to find it soothing to learn.

Aramis is silent as they walk through the brothel, but he *presses* his spirit into Jason's grasp almost *feverishly*. 

Jason strokes him and eases him as best as he can — 

Caresses him and — 

He isn't at all certain how welcome his kisses would be, in this moment.

Aramis shivers as he walks — 

Jason nods to himself. I will not — 

(Do *not* hold *back*.) 

Aramis — 

(*Please*, my Teacher. I am. I am very. I do not know what I am.) 

You're hurt, aroused, *confused*, and *grieving* for your childhood. 

(I. Grieving?) And Aramis walks into one dark room among many — large by the feel — and quickly lights two candles, one by the door, which he closes, and the other on the bedside table.

It doesn't surprise Jason in the *least* that Aramis had not yet stopped sharing a bed with his mother — 

(I did not *want* to; please tell me —) 

You had a *happy* childhood, in which you were loved just the way you wanted to be loved.

(Yes!) 

You know, now, that your mother is frightened enough of losing you that she is willing to do literally anything to keep you — and you know that she is ready for you to be an *adult*. 

(I — I already *knew* that she would do anything to keep me!) 

Did you?

(*Yes*. It's only... it...)

Yes...?

Aramis frowns. (I wonder, my Teacher. I — she felt so *much* fear. She felt — how *could* she think I would leave her? She *knows* me.) 

She knows you better than anyone, mon grand — 

(*Yes*!) 

But she also knows... lovers. 

(I... oh. She. She raised me to be — oh.)

We do not need to think about that. 

(I do!) 

You do not, not in this moment — 

(My *Teacher* —) 

Aramis. Take off your shoes and lie down. 

Aramis blinks. (Was that... an order?) 

Yes. You're my student. It's only appropriate for you to take orders from me. 

(I am also your *mate* —) 

It's appropriate for my mate to take orders from me, as well. Or isn't it?

Aramis shivers — 

Looks to the mirror — 

His eyes are *wide* — and the question in his heart is clear. 

Aramis... I love the man in you. I love the boy in you. I love every *iteration* of you. 

(You... that is true.) 

Yes. 

Aramis nods slowly, then sits on the side of the bed and takes off his shoes. 

And pauses. 

And frowns. 

Tell me, Aramis... 

(I do not know...) 

Ask. Ask all your questions, all the time. 

Aramis looks to the mirror again. His eyes are still wide. (I do not know if I wish to be a student... right now.) 

You don't have to be. 

(No...?) 

No. You only have to be yourself. 

Aramis breathes deeply once — 

Twice — 

And then lies down, on the left side of the bed. 

Would you like me to tell you stories, mon grand? 

(I...)

Mm?

(Your mother...) 

Yes? 

(Was she very beautiful, like you?) 

I have not seen her face since I was nine years old, mon grand. I remember... very little, ultimately. Her hair was brighter than mine. Thicker. She was also *quite* short, and very curvaceous. I suppose... hm. The *sense* I have of her, of my faded memories of her, is that she was a very beautiful woman. Earthy and lush.

(Your memories have *faded*? Even though she was your *mother*?) 

She gave birth to me because she and her mother before her had had visions that a child — a male child — from their line had a *chance* to make great changes upon the worlds, plural, and wield great power, both temporal and otherwise. They were blood-witches living rather squalid lives at the time, barely moved out of the forests. They did the workings of their lives to summon a *lord* to take my mother to wife — they meant to be *certain* that any child of my mother's would have power to *build* on — and then... 

Then they did many, *many* terrible, soul-blackening things to make certain that my mother's child — my mother's *only* child; the workings *blighted* her womb — would be male. According to both my mother and her mother before her, all first-born children in that line had been powerful female witches for as long as — oral, of course — records were kept. 

They... I cannot advise you strongly enough to never, ever even *try* to do what they did. 

They angered any *number* of gods and powers with their workings, and almost certainly *helped* me to curse myself once I was an adult. 

(I...) 

Yes? 

(You are saying... they raised you to know your destiny.) 

Oh, yes. 

(They raised you... not to be a son. Not to be... a love.) 

No, neither of those. 

(They raised you to... leave.) 

They imagined a King, mon grand — as best as they could. Their imaginations weren't very large. I don't believe they truly fathomed what they had done to their own souls with the workings they had done. What they *did* fathom was that they had no place in a King's court. And so, yes, they raised me to leave. 

They taught me *all* they knew of blood-magery from a *very* young age — long before I could *use* the vast majority of their lessons — and then they sent me to learn at my wife-beating, child-beating, servant-beating, animal-beating, furniture-beating, everything-in-range-beating father's feet. 

And Jason can feel Aramis wincing. 

That — We can talk of more cheerful things — 

(I know who my father — was.) 

Jason blinks — but. He left your mother. 

(He left my mother to *educate* himself for her, he said. He had been an admirer of her grace and beauty, of course, but also of her intellect and humour and style and everything *else*.) 

A man of *taste*... 

(Oh, yes! But Mother, she told me, even when I was very little, that I must never expect him to come back, because men like that never *did*.) 

Sadly true, most of the time... and yet I sense that there is more to this tale. 

(He came back... last year. In April. He was a month late for my birthday — he had forgotten the day.) 

Oh. He came back for his son.

(Just so, my Teacher. He came back for me, and he had rich gifts, and at first he had many kind and flattering words, as well. But these were lies.) 

You looked within him with your power. 

(Oh, yes. I was not hasty! When I first saw that he meant to steal me if I didn't go willingly, if Mother, my good mother, didn't *release* me willingly... when I saw that he meant to use his friends in the country gentry and clergy like a *bludgeon* on the Madame...) 

You did not kill him right away...?

(Oh, no, my Teacher. First, I let him take me to *Mass*. I let him teach me what *he* knew of scripture — which, truly, was very little, but it pleased him to think that he was molding fresh, ignorant clay.) 

Jason hums delightedly. And while he was bloviating? 

(I led him further and further away from the safer parts of the city, my Teacher. Well, further away from the parts of the city where his screams might bring *positive* attention.) 

You planned to let him scream? 

(I did not! But you never know. Better to plan for every eventuality.) 

Oh, of course. And once you had him on *comfortable* ground?

(I... he had begun speaking about Mother. About our friends. He had begun speaking about all the *sin* and *filth* he planned to *save* me from.) Aramis growls. (I lost my calm.) 

Oh, Aramis...

(I stabbed him in the *cock*, and told him he should thank me for saving him from a life of *sin*. I do not think he heard me. He was very loud very quickly.) 

People often are when you do that sort of thing...

(Yes, I think this is so. I had to slash his throat, rather than simply stabbing him. I made a mess of the alley, and also stained my *clothes*. I was very angry with him, and with myself.) Aramis shakes his head. (Still, I was able to clean my blade on his clothes, steal his purse and jewelry to make it look like a clumsy robbery, and run away. 

(I stayed in the shadows until after dark, and then went home. Mother knew what I had been planning, and knew that I would be late, but she was still very agitated, very upset. It was hard to convince her that I had never been in any danger, even though I had killed before, with much more challenging —) 

Aramis... it had never been personal before. 

(It was not personal *then*, my Teacher.) 

Not to *you*...

(But — to her. To... she did not *love* him, my Teacher.) 

It would not be *especially* strange for her to have thought, on some level, that the fact that he was your father might have slowed — or even stayed — your hand at a critical moment. 

(But *why*? He was *meaningless*.) 

*He* was meaningless. But... perhaps you had asked her about your father more than once? 

(When I was a *child* — oh. Oh, yes, I see! I often ask questions about things I *care* about!)

Oh, yes. And it's *natural* for a boy to care about his father, even if his father is terrible.

(Did you care about yours?) 

I was quite broken-hearted when the man failed to so much as send *word* to me when he had the chance to, so... yes. But that faded with time, and with Ser Darwyn's attentions. The difference, I think, is that my father was *present*, and present enough to actually provide useful information. He wasn't ignorant about *everything* — I quickly became one of the best squires *in* Arthur's host, despite being one of the youngest. For a long time, I was happy to tell anyone who would listen that my *father* had taught me this skill, or that one, or *that* one. Do you see?

(Yes, my Teacher. *You* have always been wise enough to value education.) 

Jason laughs. I would *not* say I was wise back then, mon grand. But... anything can be a treasure if it's the only thing you can call your own. 

Aramis blinks — and nods slowly. (You do not think you *would* have come to value education so highly if you had had more from your parents.) 

I don't know. I honestly don't. 

(No...?) 

There has been... so much time. All I can say is that, in the absence of *everyone* I knew, in the absence of the *world* I knew, all I had *left* was the fact that I *needed* to learn what was happening to me and Etrigan — what *had* happened to me and Etrigan — lest it *actually* kill us. I had already chosen to live — and chosen again to do so, however belatedly, in the aftermath of Ser Darwyn's death. I *had* to live, and so I had to learn. I believe the two became *braided* together very, very quickly. 

Aramis caresses him — 

Presses his spirit into Jason's grasp — 

He is so *warm* — 

Jason holds him and kisses him everywhere. 

(Oh, my *Teacher*....) 

Mon grand, there is not one *hour* I don't want to spend with you.

(But you must *travel*, and — and you are a *warrior* —) 

I am a scholar and I am *your* knight, mon grand. My schedule — my *life* — is yours to command. Jason pauses — and grins. And I can feel your heart thundering for that...

(Of course you can!)

I can feel you smiling so *brightly*...

(I — I...) 

Mm...? 

(Will you be our family, my Teacher?) 

I mean to be, mon grand. As much as I *possibly* can be. 

Aramis's frown is just as palpable as *everything* else. 

Jason laughs ruefully. By which I *mean* — I will give you both *everything* of myself. There will almost certainly be occasional fits and starts as I reflexively try to protect one or both of you from myself — 

(You will *not* —) 

— but you will both *remind* me that I *never* wish to be a fool, and that will be that. I will give myself to you, and take everything you both give *me* with *absolute* gratitude. I will bury myself in you, mon grand. I will *wallow* in everything you and your mother *share*. And, from that, we may very well build a family. But...

(But *what*?) 

Jason smiles ruefully. Such things are difficult. Only that. 

(*What* difficulties are there? Tell me so that we may plan how to best them!) 

And that...

(Why do you wish to pause *here*, my Teacher? What are you protecting me from?) 

Jason sighs. Absolutely nothing, mon grand. You will *have* the truth of me — 

(Yes! I will!) 

Jason holds Aramis steady, but gently — 

(Oh...) 

Your mother may come to object to our closeness, mon grand. Our *intimacy*. 

(She will *not*!) 

Wait — 

(*No* —) 

*Wait*, Jason says *sharply*. He doesn't *grip* Aramis with his power, but he knows Aramis can feel the possibility of it, knows that Aramis can feel the *potential* — 

He subsides, and waits. 

Good boy. Your mother wants to be a good mother to you — but she will *never* *not* know that a part of *you* desires the woman in her. *No* one would be able to keep themselves from thinking of that — especially not if they were also thinking of how you were the person they loved most in the world *and* the person growing increasingly entangled with someone *else*. 

(My Teacher, this is all *well*, but Mother is not a giddy, dreamy-minded *tavern* girl. She is a *whore*, and she is not even a *young* whore, like *me*.) 

Jason growls helplessly — 

(Yes, I know, you do not wish me to sell myself any longer. Mother has already informed the Madame,) Aramis says, and waves dismissively. (But do you see?) 

I...

(You do not see. You believe Mother places a value on sex — and believes that *I* would place a value on sex — the same way some fresh new virginal *bride* would.) And Aramis lets Jason feel *precisely* how high his eyebrow is raised. 

Jason coughs. Of course not, but — I — hm. 

(Yes?) 

All right, no, your point is made. You don't think your mother will resent our *lovemaking* — or resent it enough to seduce even if you are not ready, and even if she does not truly *wish* it — 

(She will *not*.) 

— but, mon grand, when I spoke of your mother resenting our *intimacy*, I was not only speaking of our *lovemaking*. 

Aramis blinks. (I... no?) 

No. She is a spirit-mage, like you, and, in my experience, spirit-mages tend to *all* desire a few very specific things — like the chance to peer in on their loved ones' most intimate thoughts and dreams and et cetera. The fact that you have that with me *effortlessly*... well. 

(Ohh... ohh. My Teacher, you must show me how to give this to Mother!) 

Yes? You don't want to think about it? 

(No! *No*. And I *know* you feel that —) 

I do, but I did have to ask, and I am *about* to ask again — 

(My *Teacher* —) 

Because the *only* way I know for you to have something as intimate as we have with your mother is for the three of us to share blood with each other, and open to each other, and *stay* open to each other.

(Oh.) 

Yes, quite. So I must *ask* you — 

(I will always *desire* this, my Teacher, but what about *you*? I cannot *ask* this of you —) 

Shh. You are my mate, and I am yours. Your desires are my own. 

Aramis makes a soft sound — (My Teacher... I... you would be *bound* to Mother...) 

And she to me. I can't help but *dream* of the conversations... 

(Oh — that was true! You want to speak with Mother!) 

Jason grins. I do. I want to converse with your mother for *hours*. I want to *know* her. I want to be the *second* man who never leaves her. 

And Aramis is only silent — 

Only *wondering* — 

Jason can feel him *beaming* — 

Mon grand, I will *strive* to make us a family. This I vow. 

(And — and Etrigan? I do not mean to interrupt him if he is busy, but...) 

Jason hums and presses a palm to their privacy-wall, which, at the moment, is as thin as *parchment*. 

_And so I hope to keep it for the foreseeable future, Blood._

*Oh*, yes. But...?

Etrigan makes the noise that indicates contentment and pleasure — it tends to thrum through the chest and land in the *spine* — and turns to Aramis. _What precisely would you have of me, Aramis?_

(I would like *all* of us to be family, Etrigan!) 

_You do not know me, and I am not your mate._

(You are Jason's *friend* and *companion*. You will always be *with* us, and you will *not* be ignored. We will all know each other *quickly*, and no one will be hurt by anyone's *ignorance*. You will be *ours*, and we will be *yours* — if you will have it so.)

Etrigan is staring blankly — Jason can feel it. 

Jason sits back to watch... 

Considers getting a small bite to *eat* — 

_You smell like a meal. To me,_ Etrigan *blurts*. 

Aramis stares at his own ceiling. 

Jason *guffaws* — 

Etrigan *growls* — 

Aramis licks his *lips* — 

_I *apologize* —_

(Are you saying...) 

_I apologize *profusely* for —_

(Are you saying that you eat young human males?

_I eat many kinds of human. But Jason helps me find the most irritating ones._

(Irritating — I.) 

Jason can feel Aramis pulling his lovely face into an expression of... something. 

Consternation, perhaps? 

Jason builds a picture of it in his mind — 

(Oh — I will go to a mirror —) 

You will *not*. 

(My Teacher —) 

You are comfortable, mon grand, and I can wait to *see* you — especially since I'm being allowed to *feel* you. 

Aramis *immediately* gives Jason more of himself, more of his emotions, more of his *spirit* — 

Oh, mon grand, I want to warn you *against* doing such things — 

(But you already know that I do *not* do them except for you and Mother?) 

Jason smiles. Oh, yes. 

Aramis nods. (So. Now you know that I *did* feel consternation —) 

And worry — 

_And, perhaps, some measure of horror,_ Etrigan says. 

I'm not certain I would use that strong a word, my companion. 

_No...? It's true that yours is the only spirit I am exposed to on a regular basis which is even close to human, and *your* reactions are... different._

Jason coughs. That is *a* way to put it — 

_Would *you* say that you are horrified, Aramis?_

Aramis licks his lips — (No.) 

_How would you describe the emotion, then?_

(I would say that I am somewhat *frightened* on behalf of my good mother — )

_I would not —_

(— even though I do not think you would describe her as especially irritating,) Aramis says, and it's *almost* not a question.

And *Etrigan* reaches to caress Aramis. 

(Oh! So warm!) Aramis caresses Etrigan in turn — 

_Thank you very much for that, Aramis. I've been working on tamping down my usual heat so that I may be... comfortable._

(I thank you! But —) 

_You're quite welcome, and, no, I find nothing about your mother irritating, or upsetting, or annoying, or in any way worthy of my wrath._

(Who *is* worthy of your wrath?) 

_Jason and I take out our numerous frustrations on those beings which cause the most harm to the beings around them. That is the simplest way to put it. Jason would say that we fight for the right, but that's always seemed like a rather dangerous sort of statement to espouse._

(Ohh... why so!) 

_Because, Aramis, sooner or later — even if 'later' is a matter of centuries — someone who fights for the 'right' accrues followers. Followers who will *not* know everything about their own minds and souls — and certainly not everything about their motivations. Those followers *will* misunderstand — deliberately or not — and when they take off on their *own* to 'fight for the right', their mission will be different._

_Perhaps horrifyingly so._

Aramis blinks rapidly. (I...) 

Jason smiles ruefully. Case in point, mon grand: You have read your bible, have you not? 

(Oh, yes, all of it, but why —) 

You have noticed how much of it is *different* from what is taught by the Church? 

(Practically * all* of it, and — and... oh.) 

Yes, mon grand? 

(You are saying... once, it was not so different. Perhaps when you were young?) 

Oh, no, the Church had long since deviated from the bible by *then*. But, when we *do* study religion in depth, I will give you holy books which the Church of *ancient* days refused to allow *into* the bible, even though they were equally as ancient and valid. 

(But — oh, no! Where are these books? Why don't the people *know*!) 

Most Church *fathers* don't know of them at *this* point, mon grand, but...? 

(Always the Church demands *ignorance*, unthinking *obedience* —) Aramis growls. (My father was *perfect* for them.) 

Just so. But the point I was making is this: *Jesus* — Yehoshua then — rather fought for the right when he was alive, and accrued any number of followers — 

(Oh — *oh* — and then when he was gone they changed his words! Even the ones they wrote *down*!) 

Jason inclines his head. 

(That is... is...) Aramis frowns. (That is *exactly* what people do. With *everyone* in their lives,) Aramis says, and frowns more deeply. 

Oh, yes, mon grand. Though Etrigan is absolutely correct that people tend to do it more with the people who are... inspiring, in one way or another. 

(Did they... no. It *was* done with King Arthur.) 

Of course. The *Christianizing* of us *alone* remains mind-boggling to me. It's as if a certain — significant — portion of the world has utterly *forgotten* what it was like not to be under the *yoke* of *Rome* — all while Rome has utterly forgotten what it means to be *truly* Christian. 

(Now, *now* I am horrified. And *angry*.) 

*That* is the proper attitude to have when thinking about religion, mon grand. 

_Hmm. Not all religion._

Jason sighs. All *right*, Etrigan. You *are* allowed introduce him to the All-Mother. 

(I!) 

_Now that you've had your say...?_

Jason grins toothily. 

(I would like! Ah. Hm.) 

What would you like, mon grand? 

(Who tells lies of the *All*-Mother's words?)

_She does not deal in *words* especially often, Aramis._

(Oh — no?) 

_She prefers to simply give her children the knowledge they need to have. It... in one moment, you are ignorant of the topic in question. In the next, you are not._

(*Oh*! I want this!)

Etrigan smiles at Jason *meanly*. 

Arse. 

Etrigan hums. _I would be happy to take you to Her whenever your mother feels it would be appropriate. And, perhaps, she would like to come, as well? I believe she would find the visit both pleasant and illuminating._

(The All-Mother would *wish* to see us? Truly?) 

_She wishes to know all of Her children, Aramis. She cannot see those of Her human children who are not earth-mages — not clearly, and not well. She cannot communicate with you until you come to *Her* — and most of Her human children cannot do that until they die. It gives her a great loneliness._

(Ohh...) 

_At the same time, She could never bear to have only a few sorts of children — and the word 'few' is quite relative in this sentence — and so, despite Her loneliness and pain, She has never been able to stop crafting new and strange and beautiful — to Her — seeds, even though She knows that, once they are out of Her hands, they will be all but invisible to Her until they die._

(This is too much! How does She — She must hold *tightly* to her earth-children!) 

Jason is *entirely* unsurprised by the fact that the All-Mother had gained a capital — 

Aramis pats him *impatiently* — 

And Etrigan hums again. _She does, indeed, cleave to the earth-mages, Aramis — as well as to all Her other children. I visit with Her often, and She has told me that the children She created before humans on spheres like this one — what you think of as plants and animals — are in near-constant communication with Her._

(Oh — oh, I must study this!)

_I will help in any way I can — and so will Jason._

Aramis *looks* at him. 

Jason laughs quietly. I truly will, mon grand. There is *nothing* I don't want to teach you. 

(Including things which make me feel *faithful*?) 

I will not ever *try* to stop you from feeling the things you need to feel. I will only give you the fullest possible perspective that I *can*. 

Aramis purrs and pushes closer. (My Teacher is wise. My Teacher is good to his Aramis.) 

Your teacher loves you with all of himself...

Aramis purrs more throatily — and strokes both Jason and Etrigan. 

Jason raises an eyebrow — 

_Yes, Aramis?_

(You have both taught me *much* today! I am grateful, and... I want more,) Aramis says, and his whole being is rueful. 

_You may have it._

Just so. 

(I believe... no.) 

Aramis...?

(I can *see* within you, my Teacher. I can see that you have *one* schedule you *must* keep to. One schedule which is *not* mine.) And Aramis raises a pointed eyebrow. 

Well... 

Etrigan rumbles like boiling stone. _Aramis. Jason is not due to surrender the use of our physical form to me for another two days._

(Oh. Yes?) 

Yes, mon grand. It should be more than enough time for me to at least *begin* the process of securing residences — 

(Take me with you when you do this thing!) 

Jason grins. Happily. I don't suppose you know anything about suitable properties lying fallow in the countryside...?

For some reason, this causes a fascinating degree of *hesitancy* within Aramis. 

Jason reaches gently — coaxing, not mining. 

(Oh, my Teacher, it is — it is *foolish*.) 

I *doubt* it... 

(No, I... there are *rumours* about why two highly-ranked families left the lands they owned which bordered the de la Fère lands, why one of them *sold* theirs to the de Tréville family, who are *very* low-ranked for nobility — I...) 

Yes...? 

Aramis is rueful again. (It is said, my Teacher, that the de la Fères and the de Trévilles are *werewolves*.) 

Etrigan grunts. 

*Really*. 

(I know, it is very *foolish*. I have *seen* Laurent d'Achille de la Fère, when I have traveled through the city and — and looked *in* at the Musketeers' garrison — ) 

Oh, yes? 

(Yes! He was a very tall and *imposing* man, but he was a *man*, not a slavering beast! He was speaking to the men guarding the gate, and he was smiling and calm and very *exact* in his manner — and he was the *neatest* soldier I have ever seen in my *life*. I do not think he *could* have been a werewolf. And de Tréville — well, he visited *many* Paris brothels when he was a *younger* man, and not married. *Him*, I could understand rumours about — it was said by *all* that he was very animalistic when he made love —) 

I — you have dossiers on *every* member of the French court, don't you. 

(Of course! Why?)

I was just marveling at your — and your mother's — superiority yet *again*, mon grand. But do go on. Why don't *you* think this de Tréville is a werewolf? 

(I did not *truly* think werewolves *existed*, my Teacher!) 

They do.

(I!) 

The *vast* majority of them lead quiet existences, terrifying no one save the animals they hunt to feed themselves and their young. Jason pauses — 

(Do not pause!) 

As you say: I have *not* met very many werewolves among the nobility. *Most* werewolves tend to leave urban centers *immediately* upon being turned, and that isn't the most convenient sort of thing for — but you said de Tréville *wasn't* highly-ranked...? 

(No, my Teacher! But... it is known that he and de la Fère are *very* close. Brothers. de Tréville is de la Fère's second-in-command.) 

Ah.

(Yes?) 

Well, that makes the rumours more likely. If one of them had been turned at a young age, the filial love he felt for the other would have *demanded* that he give them his bite.

(But! They do not act — they have never —) 

You're thinking of the *folklore*, yes...? 

(*Yes*, my Teacher, and I — I *feel* that you are about to tell me that I should *not* be thinking of the folklore, but —) 

*But*, mon grand, think of the folklore you know for *witches* and *witchcraft*. 

Aramis blinks — 

*Stops* — 

Blinks *more* — and nods. (Yes, I *see*, my Teacher. Were humans always so *ignorant*?) 

Different people are ignorant about different things, mon grand, with differing degrees of severity. But... 

(Yes? Yes?) 

_*All* people are ignorant about at least *some* things, Aramis. There is no species, no nation, no culture that we have found which is perfect in its wisdom at all times, in all ways._

And why should there be? There certainly aren't any *gods* who match that description. 

Etrigan hums again — 

And Aramis licks his soft lips. (Not... any?) 

None, mon grand. Even the All-Mother makes mistakes. If she didn't, she wouldn't need to create entirely new spheres *constantly* — spheres populated *only* by versions of her children who have been vulnerable on other spheres. Spheres populated by the wounded and hurt — or the potentially so —

(So that they cannot be hurt again by Her *other* children?) 

_Precisely, Aramis. Mother cannot help being drawn to the *strange* beauty of new seeds, and so She often allows far too many of the dangerous ones to take root. Teeming hordes of Her children — including myself — have taken this matter up with Her —_

(And She has said *nothing*? Or — no, *what* has She said?) 

_That She is a mother more than She is anything else. That She is as She was made just as much as we are —_

(*Oh* —) 

_That, long ago, before there was much of anything for Her to speak with other than the elders of storm and fire, before She had even formed concepts like 'seed' and 'child', She knew She was the Mother. *The* Mother — even though She did not know of what. She knew that that had to change, immediately, and so the concept of 'child' was born with the first child — the Mother of Waters. You may know of her as Lilith._

(I!) 

_Yes, I see that you do know. With her came many new possibilities for *life*, and children for both of them. Worlds for both of them. Wild, lush gardens to tend. And Mother has told me that the barren spaces *She* was born into built in Her... a need._

(A need? For — what do *gods* need?) 

_Worship and devotion, generally. But different gods have different perspectives and... Jason would call them *quirks*. That's a correct-*enough* term for them. We are all shaped by the lives we lead when we are young, and gods are no different._

Aramis nods slowly. (The All-Mother lived in barren, lifeless spaces before She gave birth to the Mother of Waters... for a very long time?)

_Time as we know it didn't exist as a concept... which I've always imagined made it seem to last that much longer._

Aramis winces and nods more. (She grew to need *much* life. *Loud* life. *All* life, all around Her?) 

_Precisely._

(She has never grown weary of this...) 

_While some gods are capable of forgetting their pasts — some gods have a great *fluency* in the art of forgetting — Mother has nothing of the kind. She remembers every moment of the time before the birth of the Mother of Waters, even though millennia in their *thousands* have passed since then._

Aramis grunts — (I believe I — no. No, I do *not* understand. I do not think my mind can *encompass* that kind of age, that kind of *time*. But... I can understand being who you are made to be.) 

Good. Remember that *every* god is who they were made to be — and that any number of them are still *becoming*, mon grand. 

(I!) 

Remember that a god's *perspective* is often built on pleasures and dreams and hopes and *slights* which happened before your *species* developed *language*. 

(Oh... *oh* —) 

Remember that you are *small* in a god's eyes, mon grand. Even the little gods can crush you outright — and will, if given sufficient cause. Though I will admit that it takes a *great* deal for the *All-Mother* to reach out a smiting hand. 

(*What* does it take?)

_If a person cannot be guided away from acts of harm against other people, then the All-Mother will intervene — if She can *see* the person in question. Otherwise, She will simply not retaliate against someone who acts against the person in question themselves._

(Like... you.) 

_Yes._

Just so, mon grand. 

(Do you clean up Her *messes*?) 

_Don't you do chores for your own mother...?_

And Aramis's entire *self* is *hotly* affronted. 

Etrigan clears his throat. _Perhaps I'll let Jason speak, for a time._

(Thank you.) 

Jason hums. Don't be too terribly angry, mon grand. You must not think that *every* arsehole on this sphere is the fault of the All-Mother. 

(Then how many? What is the *percentage*?) 

I would say... no more than one percent of the arseholes are her fault.

(Oh.) 

Almost certainly much less, actually, since the arseholes *she* creates tend to be *wildly* obvious in one way or another. They either *announce* themselves in their youth — and are summarily drowned as changelings and the like — or they're so *troubled* by their differences from everyone else that they work to *make* themselves closer to the *herd*. 

(Does this... work?) 

Not on a *deep* level — but it does keep any number of them well-*behaved*. 

Aramis nods thoughtfully. (Please tell me more?) 

Perfectly good-*enough* people create perfectly terrible children *every* day, mon grand. 

(I...) 

Yes...? 

Aramis frowns. 

Did that not make sense to you?

(It did... but it seems like too easy an answer, and not *enough* of an answer.) 

_It was too *pat* an answer._

(Yes, this! Thank you, Etrigan.) 

_You're quite welcome. Give him a better answer, Jason._

Jason snorts — As you *both* say: In today's Western Europe, men and women are expected to raise hardworking, Christian-godfearing children. The boys will earn money in one way or another, the girls will be married off and have any number of babies — and probably die in childbirth, or from an ague picked up because they were so weakened by the number of pregnancies they were expected to suffer through. You have midwives, but they're poorly-trained. Your witches and healers aren't especially willing to stick their *necks* out, because the *Church* is a jealous, ravening *beast* with many, many long knives. 

So. Mothers die young. The men must still earn, because it's not *decent* for women to earn money except in a few heavily-proscribed ways, and those ways aren't paid *well*. The eldest children care for the home, and for the youngest children as best as they can. Often, they're also caring for sick and elderly relations. The grandfathers and grand-uncles who *also* outlived their women, or the elderly women who somehow defeated the odds and are now suffering for it daily. 

There is neither time nor money to pay for education outside the home, and *wisdom* is even harder to come by. The children are hungry, and bickering among themselves as children do, and the elders must be cared for, and the menfolk must be sent on their way with the heartiest meals affordable, and the house must be cleaned and aired, and the war against vermin must be waged *continuously*, and... some things are not handled in the most timely fashion. 

Some lessons are not taught — not every day. Not in the most *thorough* way. 

*This* child isn't scolded promptly enough for his bullying. *This* child is always so cheerful and *sunny* of disposition that it's easy to forgive her for *being* a monstrous little shit to her little sister. *This* child — 

(I. I see, my Teacher.) 

Yes...?

(Most parents — most *people* — have not had the opportunities to raise and educate their children that my mother has.) 

No, they have not. And I wonder — *deeply* — *how* your mother managed it. 

(She befriended the *other* mothers, and helped them with their children and other needs. She made herself *necessary* to them, and so made the care of *me* while Mother was working necessary to them.) 

So simple? No, what am I *saying*, there was *nothing* simple about that, was there? 

(I do not think Mother wished to have *only* one child, my Teacher. But this is all she had *currency* for.) 

She has more currency now, mon grand... 

Aramis blinks... and nods thoughtfully. 

Yes...?

(Perhaps my *Teacher* will give Mother a child, a good, strong —) 

Jason coughs — I — 

(— and we will *all* raise the child together, teaching and training them —) 

Aramis — 

(— they will have *all* the books —) 

Etrigan is laughing *uproariously* — 

*Aramis* — 

(Mm? What *is* it, my Teacher?) 

I — no. No. 

(But you find Mother *attractive* —) 

I *do*. I most assuredly do. However, I lost the ability to father children when I gained immortality. The scales must always balance, mon grand. There are, ultimately, very, very few long-lived individuals who are *as* fertile as mortals with standard lifespans. 

(Oh, no!) 

It's not a tragedy — 

(*Tell* me you have not mourned this! Tell me this *lie*!) 

Etrigan *looks* at Jason.

Jason licks his lips — I...

Aramis growls. 

As you say. I have, however, *stopped* *actively* mourning the loss of my fertility — 

(*Has* he, Etrigan?) 

_He has, shockingly enough._

Jason sighs in *relief* — 

_However, he is even more likely to 'protect' women of childbearing age from himself than he is to 'protect' other people._

Jason *winces* — 

Aramis *glares* at him — 

I... plan... to stop doing that. 

(*When*, my Teacher.) 

After you're *dead*, mon grand — 

(I!) 

— because I will not *need* another love while I have *you*. 

Aramis's heart speeds — 

*Thunders* — 

And he beams with a helplessness Jason can *feel*. 

Mon grand...

(My Teacher should *always* show his passions...) 

Even when they are morbid and atavistically horrifying?

(*Always*), Aramis says, and purrs, and his spirit seems to wriggle in Jason's grasp. 

Jason grips *reflexively* — 

(*Mm* — *yes*, my Teacher. Now, please, tell me more about werewolves.)


	10. The neighbourhood is going to *hell*.

Jason knows that he's put himself in the sights of a *large* pack of exceedingly healthy wolves — and wolf-*mages* — as soon as he steps out of the portal he'd made. 

The scents, the tastes on the air, the overall feel of — earth — magery having been expended *recently* — 

It's all *quite* unmistakable. 

Still, that doesn't rule *out* the possibility of them moving in next door, as it were.

Jason pulls the carved wooden box holding the small amulet he'd found in Morocco out of a storage pocket and steps out of his manufactured shadows. He'll knock on the *front* door. 

He'd bought the amulet for no one in particular — it's just good *business* to have appropriate small gifts on hand for all sorts of people — but it *should* go over well today. 

The water-mage Jason had bought it from hadn't known the amulet's exact provenance — such things are difficult to keep track of even for the long-lived — but Jason had been able to confirm the results of the woman's impressively-thorough analysis on his own: The amulet will ensure the bearer maintains a *vastly* heightened degree of self-control even when *battered* with sensation. Not the *most* valuable sort of thing for sense-blind *human* magic-users, but for lycanthropes and other shifters...

Jason hums to himself in satisfaction and moves up the path. 

_There are two adult werewolves and *seven* juveniles in that house, Blood._

Jason blinks and continues to walk...

_Yes, that does seem excessive. But the juveniles have four different sires._

*Four*? 

_Only three of the four sires were wolves._

Well, this just gets more and more *fascinating*. Let's hope they'll allow some measure of conversation. 

_Before they attempt to murder us?_

Earth-mages *like* me. You admitted that yourself. 

_Earth-mages like you *most* when you've stopped trying to be charming and started being blunt._

Very true. Well, when I grow into an artless boor, we can always blame the French. 

Etrigan snorts — 

And the front door swings open well before Jason reaches the door. Hm. 

_We are expected._

So we are. 

The servant's livery is a particularly dark and rich shade of blue, and the servant himself is an older man with particularly *horrific* burn scars on his forehead and both cheeks. 

His eyes are a muddy brown, but *very* sharp, and he holds himself as though he fully intends to beat Jason to a grease stain should Jason misbehave in any way, shape, or form. He holds himself as though he *can* beat any number of people into grease stains, despite his advanced years and lack of obvious weapons, and that, along with the scarring — 

Old soldier. Well, then. 

Jason smiles delightedly, moves the wooden box to *one* gloved hand, and offers the other to the servant. "Jason Blood. I believe I am expected?"

The servant narrows his eyes ever so slightly — and then clasps arms with Jason. "You are, indeed, sir," he says, in the tones of a man who means to *fillet* each and every person who so much as *irritates* his charges. "I am Alaire. Would you care to refresh yourself before meeting with the Mistresses?"

And not the Masters... well, it would be reasonable for two soldiers to not be at home. "I'm quite well, thank you, Alaire. If it's quite all right, I'm more than willing to await the Mistresses' pleasure anywhere that seems appropriate." 

Alaire's expression makes it clear that he hasn't yet decided whether or not the most appropriate place couldn't be found at the bottom of the *Channel*, but Jason suspects... 

"Former quartermaster...?" 

Alaire inclines his head. 

Jason grins. "People like you saved my hide — and the hides of my *brothers* — far more than once, Alaire. I am *not* here to anger — or even *inconvenience* — a man who might as well be the *twin* of those men." 

*That* get a noncommittal grunt — but there's a light in Alaire's eyes when he releases Jason's arm and gestures him in. 

Jason will take it. 

"Right this way," Alaire says, and leads them through rich, well-appointed, and *silent* halls. 

This does *not* seem like a place where *werewolves* live — but, he will be patient. For now — "If I may ask..." 

Another soft grunt. 

"Were you in the Army, or...?" 

"The King's Musketeers. Lieutenant de Tréville asked me to... divert my retirement into his service." 

"I certainly can't fault his *taste*. When I *have* stayed in one place — rather than traveling — I've tried to keep quartermasters and former quartermasters in my employ as much as possible." 

"Mm." 

"Quite. But... this *is* the de la *Fere* estate...?"

"You were expected, sir. I requested the opportunity to take my holiday here, at this time," he says, in a tone that speaks of filleting, grilling, and *consumption* of enemies. 

"Hm. Would it make any difference, at all, for me to say that I mean no harm to *anyone* here?" 

"The Master tells me that his goddess speaks highly of you," Alaire says, and continues to walk, giving Jason his profile to look at. 

"Oh, yes?" 

"Mm. Apparently, the conversation he had with his goddess was enough to convince him — and Captain de la Fère — that they could leave the problem of you in the Mistresses' capable hands." 

"But you were *not* convinced...?" 

Alaire shows his teeth, making his scar-tissue twitch. "I don't believe in religion." 

Jason sighs. "I like you *immensely*. I have a student now, and, if at all possible, I would like to arrange some time for him to speak with you —" 

Alaire *looks* at him. 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "The boy means to take up the life of a soldier, once he has left home. Other soldiers have tried to dissuade him, but he will not *have* that. What he *will* have? Is frank, open, respectful *discussion* of what his life *will* entail." 

Alaire nods slowly, and actually *stops* walking. "You mean to temper him." 

"I do. He is anything *but* callow, but he is still young — and youth can be shattered when sufficient force is applied. I mean to *prevent* that — to the best of my ability." 

This time, Alaire nods *approvingly*. "I will see what my duties permit, sir," he says, and gestures onward. 

They walk the rest of the way in a much more companionable silence. 

There continue to be no signs of any of the juveniles *or* of any of the rest of the *staff* who *must* be employed in order to keep this vast manor running, but it is a beautiful home, and — 

Well, presumably someone will eventually *tell* Jason just *why* he was expected. 

_For what it's worth, there are no seers in *this* building._

Are there any signs that any have *been* here? 

_If there have been, they haven't practiced their *art* here. Perhaps in one of the pack's other properties._

Just so. 

They finally stop again by a set of double doors which, by the scents, leads into a *sizable* library. 

"Please wait here, sir." 

"As you say, Alaire," Jason says, standing at casual attention with his gift. 

The Mistresses keep Alaire in conversation — interrogation? — for a bit over two minutes, and then Alaire returns to gesture him in without another word. 

Jason murmurs his thanks and enters. 

The scents of wolf and *curious*, *impatient*, and *worried* women rise immediately, and Jason follows them — as the Mistresses must have known that he *would* be able to do — to a collection of comfortable-looking couches and chairs by the large windows. 

The Mistresses are seated there — and neither of them are bothering with a pretense of calm. 

The obviously-tall — possibly as tall as *he* is — strong-limbed, dark-skinned, and staggeringly beautiful woman who *must* be Amina du Vallon de Tréville, given Aramis's descriptions, is poised to spring from her lovely chair by the — unlit — fireplace. 

The small, *exceedingly* curvaceous, blonde, rosy-cheeked, and staggeringly beautiful woman who must in *turn* be Marie-Angelique Leandres de la Fère... is poised to spring from her well-upholstered couch by the windows. 

They have arranged themselves so that Jason must stand in the position which throws as much glare as *possible* into his eyes, and — 

Well. 

Jason bows deeply to both of them, stands again, and smiles. "Madame de la Fère. Madame de Tréville. My name is Jason Blood, and you should consider me at your service. I mean neither you nor your pack *any* harm, and I would *very* much like to know what I could do to set your minds at ease." 

de Tréville narrows her eyes. 

de la Fère cocks her head to the side. Her ears flatten to her head, just a little. The motion is subtle enough that the vast majority of humans would miss it. "Perhaps you could tell us *why* you are at our service, Monsieur Blood." 

"To *begin*," de Tréville says. 

"As you say," Jason says, and places the box on the small table between them. "Within that box is an amulet I purchased in Morocco some years ago while traveling on other business. It's designed to help mages maintain positively *rigid* self-control even when their senses are being *buffeted* with information. I have tested it *extensively*, but I welcome you to share it with the All-Mother so that she can do the same. I offer it to your pack with my compliments." 

de Tréville raises one thick, lightly-arched eyebrow. "You did not come *only* to offer a *gift*, Monsieur Blood." 

"I did not. The gift is a token of my goodwill, as I wish to become your neighbour here in the countryside." 

The women blink, nearly as one. 

"I believe the Géroux estate is currently entirely unpopulated..." 

The women stare at him for long moments — 

de Tréville flares her nostrils subtly — 

de la Fère blinks once more — and recovers. "Did you believe the Géroux family would sell to you, Monsieur?" 

"Ah, well... yes, as a matter of fact I did." 

"We lead a *quiet* life here, Blood," de Tréville says with a growl under her voice. "The louder you become *around* us —" 

"The quieter you will force us to *make* you," de la Fère says. 

"Forgive me," Jason says, and raises two fingers *gently*, "but I do *not* mean to be *unsubtle* about acquiring the property. If you *agree* to *allowing* me to become your neighbour, the two *spirit*-mages whom I intend to live with will help me to *coax* the Géroux family — *all* of the Géroux family — to the proper state of mind."

A pause — 

The two women are communicating. 

They do not look at each other, or move, or gesture, or change their stony *expressions*, but — 

Jason knows the feel of such things, at this late date. 

After another moment, de Tréville clears her throat. "Tell us why you wish to have werewolves for neighbours, Monsieur Blood." 

Jason inclines his head. "I am not certain what you have come to know about me, but I am well over six hundred years old, and I travel extensively — both on this sphere and others. Over the course of my life, I've come to know any number of people from any number of *species*. Lycanthropes and other shifters have been friends and allies to me — and to the fire-demon who shares my soul — from the very first cat-shifter we *met*, hundreds of years ago. 

"Additionally, I tend to get along with earth-mages just as a general *rule*, once we've had time to get to know one another, despite the fact that the curses on me mean that the touch of my skin is quite literally *anathemic* to them without the sharing of blood — and corruption."

They stare at him in *consternation*. 

Jason can *smell* it. But — "Madame de Tréville, Madame de la Fère, please, if I can be of *assistance* with something...?"

de Tréville frowns. 

de la Fère smiles ruefully. "Monsieur Blood. Perhaps you have deduced that our husbands — our *mates* — are most often in Paris when they are not on maneuvers or on some mission or another?" 

"Well... yes?" 

"Did it ever occur to you to wonder why *we* are *here* today...?" 

Jason blinks. "You came here to meet *me*." 

"*Oh*, yes," de Tréville says. "*And* we brought our *children* — all of our children! — because my former guardian Ife had a *prophecy* about you." And she glares. 

"I..."

"To wit," de la Fère says, "That you would come to us here, on *this* day, bearing information that would change the lives of our *entire* pack, *including* the lives of our children. Please be so kind as to explain this." 

"Hm. I... I am honestly —" 

"Do not say you do not know! We have *already* dealt with this with our *mates*!"

*de la Fère* growls low. "*They* were satisfied with the All-Mother telling Treville that all would be *well*. That you were a good, trustworthy, and *honourable* man." 

"As if this is *enough*!" 

The scents of *affront* rise to *choke* him — 

Jason licks his lips — 

*Both* women narrow their eyes — 

_I believe it's time for you to be charming._

Oh, do you *think* so?

_Yes._

Jason clears his throat. "Ah..." 

The growls are low and *promising*. 

"*Well*. If I may be given time and room to... speculate?" 

*This* time, de la Fère and de Tréville *do* share a look — 

de Tréville nods once — 

And when they both turn back to him, de la Fère says, "Go on." 

"The spirit-mages I intend to have live with me are a mother and son. The mother is a brilliant, fascinating, open-minded, creative, witty, and *ruthless* woman who may or may *not* be your approximate age — I would never ask either of you —" 

de Tréville snorts — 

"Her son is all of those things and more, wishes to be a *Musketeer* —" 

They *both* lift their chins slightly — 

"— and is my *mate*, despite being only fifteen." 

They frown again, though in far more confusion than disapproval. And that... well. 

"You thought, perhaps, that my Aramis was the mate of one of your children?" 

"In a word? Yes," de la Fère says. 

"He still *might* be, Madame. The All-Mother can tell you both that mating is not necessarily for two people *only*." 

"He is correct, sweet sister," de Tréville says, and cocks her head to the side. "Do you mean to *only* live in the countryside, Monsieur Blood?" 

"No, Madame. Aramis and his mother Claudette d'Herblay are both rather more suited to urban life, as are Etrigan and myself —" 

"Will you tell how you came to share a soul with another being, Monsieur Blood?" And de la Fère has an eyebrow up. 

Jason shudders. 

"You do not answer that question very often," de Tréville says, eyes sharp. 

"No, I do not. And now I have been asked that question multiple times in a very brief period — well. I have never regretted being honest with wolves," Jason says, and smiles wryly. 

And shares his tale as succinctly as he can. 

All of it — 

Absolutely — 

When he gets to the part of the tale where Morgan betrays him and Arthur's host, Etrigan presses his hand to the wall between them. 

And — 

And, eventually, he's done. 

He's done, and the women are staring at him with pain and horror — 

They smell so *hurt* — 

Jason shakes his head once. "Is there anything else the two of you need to know on this subject?"

de la Fère shivers — 

And de Tréville swallows. "No, Monsieur. Please tell us where you intend to live in *Paris*." 

Jason takes an unabashedly relieved breath. "We had not yet decided. A goodly house in the merchant's quarter with enough room to sprawl in wouldn't be amiss." 

de Tréville and de la Fère share another look — 

And then de la Fère gestures to the chair on de Tréville's other side. "Please have a seat, Monsieur Blood." 

Jason inclines his head. "Of course," he says, and sits where he's been bid. 

de la Fère then tugs a bell-pull — 

And de Tréville turns to him. "Please tell us more about your business in France." 

"Yes, do," de la Fère says. "Do you spend much time here?" 

Jason smiles wryly. "Not as a general rule, no. In truth, I only came to France *this* time because I had begun... hm... sharing my soul again. That truly is the best way to put it," he says, and laughs. "To be more clear: Madame d'Herblay did a very *serious* working to *summon* a mate for her son —" 

"*Oh* —" 

"*How*?" And de la Fère leans in. "What sort of magic *is* this, Monsieur Blood?" 

"What are the *costs* of this magic?" And *de Tréville* leans in, pinning Jason with a *look*. 

Jason clears his throat. "Madame d'Herblay has yet to explain this magery to me, I'm afraid — and I had *never* come across it before it was used *on* me. It is my suspicion that the working is specific to the Rom peoples — or to *some* of the Rom peoples." And then he waits.

They blink again — 

And then de la Fère smiles wryly, blue eyes sparkling. "Before you ask, Monsieur Blood..." 

"Yes...?" 

de Tréville rumbles a laugh. "You may have guessed that we are, as a pack, somewhat less *afflicted* with prejudice and ignorance — of that sort — than other families among the French nobility." 

"As my mate is wont to put it," de la Fère says, "'There is no room in this life for baseless hatred, and prejudice built on the sandy foundations of *ignorance*. A soldier afflicted with these weaknesses underestimates his enemies, and becomes a liability to his brothers. A politician afflicted with these weaknesses is a liability to his *nation*. A *parent* afflicted with these weaknesses is a liability to their *children*. None of the above can or should be tolerated by the reasonable person.'" 

And they raise their eyebrows at him as *one* — 

And Jason smiles and inclines his head. "I will be *happy* to share that with Madame d'Herblay and my Aramis, who have been forced to lead a life of circumspection with... far too many of the people whom they should have been able to trust." 

They nod *darkly* for that — and then de Tréville cocks her head to the side again. "Monsieur Blood, please tell us how you spend your time when you are *not* being courted or attempting to placate *bristling* werewolves." 

Jason hums. "I am a scholar, and I will *always* be a knight, Madame —" 

"Please, call me Amina —" 

"And call *me* Marie-Angelique — but please, do *not* shorten it to Marie. I have no wish to be any more *affixed* to the herd of women named after the Queen of the Christian Heaven than I already have been." 

Jason laughs delightedly. "As you *say*. Thank you very much, both of you — and please, do call me Jason." 

They smile at him and rumble — 

And de Tréville reaches out to pat his gloved hand. "But tell us *more*. What *are* your scholarly pursuits? *How* are you a knight? Whom do you serve?" 

"I study a little of everything I can find a sufficiently-coherent *book* about, Amina. As I was telling my mate yesterday, needing to live and needing to *learn* became rather braided together for me at a *young* age, and the braid has *not* unraveled. 

"Furthermore, I've spent a great *deal* of my life alone with Etrigan — or nearly alone. When there *has* been someone else in my life, it has most often been a *student* I was training, and *with* whom I was also learning. I'm quite sure you've both come to understand how *impossible* it is to *escape* further learning once you begin truly teaching someone else...?" 

They both rumble more — 

And de la Fère — *Marie-Angelique* hums, as well. "Our children have demanded the best of us in this respect —" 

"And in *all* others," Amina says. "We often *marvel* at how *hopelessly* ignorant — 

"And ignorant *of* our ignorance..."

"— we were before our children were born," Amina says, and smiles at Marie-Angelique. "If we are *very* lucky, sweet sister, our children will not *remember* our mistakes." 

"They could always remember them fondly," Jason says. 

They *look* at him. 

Jason coughs. "What am I saying; a child's mother must *never* make mistakes." 

"That's *right*, Jason," Amina says. "Your Madame d'Herblay knows this *well*, I think." 

Marie-Angelique raises an eyebrow — 

Jason smiles wryly. "I have wondered if, perhaps, she could be closer to her son were she not so unassailably *perfect* in his eyes." 

They smell thoughtful for that — 

And Amina leans in still further — "They are not close?" 

"Oh, they're *very* close. Far more close than the vast majority of mothers and sons." 

"But they wish to be closer," Marie-Angelique says, and nods. 

"They *both* wish to be closer?" 

"*Oh*, yes," Jason says. "And I mean to help them with that," he says, and leaves that there. 

The scents of thoughtfulness and *plotting* rise — 

And Marie-Angelique leans in. "Please tell us about your *knighthood*, Jason. Or should we be calling you *Sir* Jason?" 

"There is *no* need for formality with me, Marie-Angelique. When I was first made a knight at fifteen, I wanted literally everyone to address me as Ser Guthlac — which was my name then — at *all* times, and I'd grow *hotly* insulted if someone *didn't*." He smiles wryly. "I've had a *bit* of time to grow out of that." 

"Do any of us ever grow out of needing to be *respected*...?" Amina asks, and raises her eyebrow again — 

And Marie-Angelique raises *hers* — 

And Jason laughs hard. "Not at *all*. But, I believe you *both* understand that true respect is in *honour*, not in *honourifics*. 

They rumble at him — 

And Marie-Angelique leans back and steeples her fingers. "Our mates feel much the same, Jason." 

"But if you call her Laurent anything but 'Captain' —" 

"— and you call her Treville anything but 'Lieutenant' —" 

"— before they *say* you can call them something else...?"

"We will be very cross," Marie-Angelique says.

And then they *both* show very, very many sharp teeth. 

Jason inclines his head. "There are, of course, forms." 

"*Oh*, yes," Amina says. 

"But about your knighthood?" 

"I have been a knight without a *liege* for *centuries*. My one and *only* liege, before now, was Arthur. Before now, there simply had not *been* anyone else I could *give* myself to — not in that way. And so I continued to serve Arthur's cause in the best ways I could, growing as I believe he himself would have grown, had he been given the opportunity to do so. 

"Had he been given the *education* I was given in the *spheres* — and all the many peoples on them. 

"Had he been given the education in all the spheres' *women*... well. He *didn't* have that education at the time, and so his ideas for a fair, just Britain were smaller than mine have become. I can forgive him for that, because if *Arthur* was small then, *I* was a *gnat*. 

"The man I've become fights for the right. I war against those who bring harm and injustice to those who can't defend themselves. Most often that means I war against magical beings of one sort or another, and that means that my scholarly pursuits are often martial in nature, as well. 

"Over the centuries Etrigan and I have made *many* enemies, and there are things we cannot do anymore because of that — like sleep. But that means that I have more *time* to study, and hone myself, and travel, and... well. 

"Live.

"Does that answer your question?" 

Amina and Marie-Angelique look at him *acquisitively* — 

It's the most *remarkable* — 

And then Aramis reaches for him. 

Jason raises two fingers. "Please give me a moment; my mate is contacting me." 

They incline their heads and continue *staring* — 

Jason focuses on Aramis. Mon grand, did you wake up late today...? 

(I...) 

Mm? 

(I wished to speak to Mother alone.) 

Oh, of course — 

Aramis reaches for him more powerfully — 

Jason caresses him. Are you quite all — 

(You are not angry with me? You do not wish to punish your Aramis?) 

Jason blinks — No...? Why would I? 

(I left you *alone*. I promised I would be with you today when you were visiting the werewolves — and they are very beautiful! — and then I —) 

Shh, shh. It's all *right*. You needed time with your mother. It's *entirely* understandable, after everything we've all been talking about and *doing*. 

Aramis caresses him silently — 

Thoughtfully — 

(You mean this.) 

I do. But if you need to speak — 

Aramis *flings* himself into Jason's grasp. (I love you!) 

And I *you*. *Always*. I am *yours* — 

(And I am *yours*. And I was talking to Mother about *intimacy*, about — about being *close*. About *binding*, like you *said*.) 

Oh, yes? What — 

(We argued. We argued *much*,) Aramis says, and he is hurt, and unhappy — 

Jason holds him — 

Strokes him and *warms* him as best as he *can* — 

Mon grand, I'm so sorry. How may I help? 

(She *refused* to let herself be bound, my Teacher! Even though she wants it! Even though she knows that *I* know that she wants it!) 

I — 

(She is — is — she will not let herself take that from *you*.) 

Jason grunts and — freezes. 

(Oh — oh, no, no, she did not mean — she does not see you as *lesser*, my Teacher! Please, no!) 

Are you — 

(I know this thing! I *felt* this thing!) 

Jason squeezes his eyes shut — 

He can still see Aramis's wide eyes in the mirror — 

He can still — 

But he must not make this about his *own* hurts. 

(My Teacher, I will hold *you*, and —) 

Shh. We will hold each other.

(*Yes*, and —) 

*And*... you will tell me — no. I can guess, I believe. She felt that having me bind her to us would be too... grasping. Too *demanding*. 

(*Yes*! Even though I *told* her how you felt! Even though I *showed* her!) 

Oh, mon grand... it can be hard to *believe* in the truth of such things when you're in a position like the one your mother is in. 

(*No* —) 

Yes. I have *been* in positions like that, and... mm. I'm not the best example. I'm melancholic *already*. But believe me when I say that even the most confident, ruthless, and relentless of people falter in the face of asking to be the third to two people in love — even if they're not asking for anything outré. 

(But she is my *mother*!) 

And, perhaps, she did not love her own mother as well as you love yours, mon grand...

(I. What?) 

Perhaps — just perhaps — she does not have a model in her mind and heart for devotion as pure and true as *yours*. 

Aramis swallows. (Oh. Oh... I. I already knew this thing...) 

Jason strokes him. 

(My Teacher...) 

Anything, my Aramis. *Anything*. 

(What will I *do*?) 

*I* will speak with your mother. It may take time, and the three of us coming to know each other as a family in more conventional ways, but I *will* make her understand that I desire this. This I vow. 

(You are so confident...)

I am. 

(*Why*?) 

Because I know that she wants, more than anything else, to be as close to *you* as *possible*, mon grand — and *that* means that she wants to be convinced. It's just a matter of finding the right words — or deeds.

(You do not know her *will*!) 

I believe I *do*, mon grand. After all, it brought me to *heel*. 

Aramis blinks. (But you think your will is stronger?) 

My will does not *have* to be stronger, mon grand. All that must happen is for her to remember that her will is best served by making *you* as happy and fulfilled as possible.

(Ohh...) 

Yes...? 

And then Aramis beams and *clutches* him with his power. (My mate is very wise.) 

My mate is *glorious*. Now, would you like to discuss anything else before I return my attention to Amina and Marie-Angelique? 

(They gave you their *names*?) 

They did. In my experience, wolves are *exceedingly* bad at standing on ceremony — and I am *occasionally* good at making first impressions. 

Aramis giggles. (My Teacher will show me this someday.) 

Little *monster*. 

Aramis blows a kiss — and eases back within Jason so that Jason *can* focus on Amina and Marie-Angelique again. 

Jason caresses him one more time, and then — "My apologies to both of you —" 

"Do *not* apologize," Amina says — 

"Pack comes *first*," *Marie-Angelique* says — 

And Jason can't help but grin. "And this is why I have *always* loved werewolves." 

"It's always good to meet men of taste and distinction," Marie-Angelique says — 

"*Oh*, yes," Amina says. "But is all well with your mate? You smelled troubled." 

(Ohh...) 

And this... 

A part of Jason is only saying that the thought in his mind, the *idea*, is too much — 

(What idea?) 

The rest of Jason, however, knows that he must *always* follow his *instincts*. "As a matter of fact, all *isn't* well with my mate." 

(My *Teacher*!)

"What is it?"

"Yes, do tell," Marie-Angelique says, and both she and Amina lean in once more. 

"His mother does not *yet* understand that it's perfectly natural for her to desire more intimacy with her son than what she currently has, and that it's perfectly *reasonable* for the three of us to be bound." 

Marie-Angelique and Amina blink — 

Frown — 

"She will not take your bite...? Or..." Amina frowns more deeply. "I do not know how you share blood. I do not..." 

"I sometimes share blood with a bite, but most often I use a sharp blade to lessen the pain." 

Amina nods impatiently — "*Why* will she not — was she raised ignorant of blood-magic?" 

Marie-Angelique raises both eyebrows — 

And Aramis is silent and *watchful*. 

"I do not know how *precisely* she was raised, Amina, but — I *sincerely* doubt if it was in ignorance." 

"Then *what*?" 

"It is my suspicion that she has built within herself a certain *loathing* —" 

Marie-Angelique inhales sharply. "She feels she has already overstepped what is *appropriate* between a mother and son, and now can't bring herself to go *further*." 

"Even if it is not *truly* further," Amina says. 

"Even if her son *wishes* it." 

And they *look* at him. 

Jason smiles wryly. "I feel *strongly* that you're both more correct than not." 

Amina nods once. "We will speak to her. We will *teach* her."

*Marie-Angelique* nods.

"How did you travel here today, Jason? Our children scented no new horses when they were running along the road." 

"I use my *shadow*-magery to open portals between one place and another, which allows for near-instantaneous travel — so long as I have a *rough* idea of where I'm *going*." 

They stare at him. 

"I... if you'd like to return to Paris with me...?" 

"And you *wonder* why we were ready to tear you apart when you arrived!" 

Jason smiles ruefully. "In all honesty, Amina... I tend to expect that sort of reaction more often than not." 

The three of them speak on lighter subjects for another half an hour, until Jason must refuse tea because his mate is — still — silent and watchful. 

He has amends to make. 

He takes his leave after promising to return as soon as possible with Aramis and his mother, and — 

And he does *not* go to Madame Margaud's. 

He goes to his empty rooms in Paris, and he paces — 

And he reaches *gently* toward the watchful *knot* of Aramis — 

Aramis reaches back, at last. 

Please talk to me, mon grand. 

(You shared our secrets.) 

Yes, and I apologize for doing it without your permission.

(But not for doing it?) 

Your future — *our* future — is with that pack, mon grand. It... everything *in* me told me to bind *all* of us to them as soon as possible with as many different kinds of *cord* as possible. 

Aramis is silent for long moments. 

Long — 

Painful — 

Aramis... 

(My Teacher... when Mother told me about having a mate, as opposed to having a lover, she told me that there were things which would *happen* to the two mates, with time.) 

Yes, Aramis? 

(One of the things was that the mates would become more *like* each other, more... more *kin* to each other, until it seems strange and wrong to both of them that they had not always been together.) 

I... 

(This thing you did today. This *binding* you did... I would have done this, and I would have done it *just* as you did. *Exactly* as you did.) 

Jason blinks. 

Stares into the mirror — 

Tries to think of the last time he'd had that easy a *time* following his instincts when it wasn't a matter of *immediate* life or death... 

(So you see.) 

I do. Aramis... how do you feel about this? 

(Do you love me? Love me truly and — and completely? Even when I am *impulsive*?) 

I love you *always*. In every moment, for every reason, in every *way*. 

(Then I am well, because everything about you is what I *need*.) 

Oh, Aramis... 

(But... please be more careful in the future. More gentle?) 

Jason sends a soft kiss to Aramis's spirit. I will, my Aramis. I will. 

Aramis presses his spirit into Jason's grasp. (Let us go speak to Mother.)


	11. It's important to make new members of a family feel welcome.

They find d'Herblay in her office again — and this time there are two chairs in front of the mirror. 

This is an *entirely* hopeful sign... unless, of course, it means that she intends to keep Jason from seeing them both in *person* for some extended period of time.

Aramis smiles *meanly* — and caresses him. 

"Yes, tricky boy...?" 

"He is wondering if this means that he will not be allowed to *return* for many days and weeks, my Mother." 

d'Herblay hums. "That remains to be seen, of course," she says, and moves from behind the desk to sit in one of the chairs by the mirror. 

Aramis takes the other — 

And d'Herblay *looks* at him. "What *else* happened to you today, tricky boy? Why are you agitated?" 

"I..." 

"Tell me," d'Herblay says — not commands. 

Aramis studies her for a long moment — and then nods. "My Mother, he has shared much about us with the werewolves he met with, including *secrets*." 

She lifts her chin and narrows her eyes, obviously calculating. "You are not angry with him." 

"No, my Mother. But I was — for a time." 

She cocks her head to the side. "This is not something you could be *talked* away from..." 

"No, my Mother." 

She nods once. "Then he shared our secrets for reasons which you could *ultimately* comprehend. Tell me more, please," she says, and frowns. 

Aramis frowns, as well — 

And Jason knows that Aramis had expected *her* to know why Jason had shared their secrets. 

(She *does* know, my Teacher! She *must* know. She — she does not want to *say*.) 

Oh... be gentle, mon grand. 

(But —) 

Be gentle, because — 

(*You* understand this! You understand — oh. Oh... she *knows* that you are becoming more like me, and that I will become more like you...) 

Yes, I daresay she does. 

(She... is afraid of losing me.) 

She is your mother. 

Aramis nods, and focuses on his mother, and takes her hands, and begins to kiss them, and rub them against his cheeks. 

"Tricky *boy*." 

"My mate, he has helped me to understand that you fear losing me when the mating makes me more like *him*," Aramis says, and presses soft kisses to her palms. 

She makes a softly *hurt* noise — 

And Aramis nods. "My Mother, you will not lose me," he says, and looks up into her eyes. "I will *always* be your tricky boy. Even when I grow into a tricky man whose tricks are, perhaps, *older* than they should be." And he looks at her steadily. 

She inhales just a little sharply — 

Studies *him* — 

And wets her lips. "He was... quick, today." 

"Yes, my Mother. His instincts told him that our future — *all* of our futures — would depend on the goodwill of the pack, and he acted without further thought — and without *deep* consideration of our feelings." 

"He offered our — and his own? — secrets to them to earn their trust...?" 

"Yes, my Mother — and also their overall..." Aramis frowns slightly and thinks for a moment.

d'Herblay waits, not taking her hands from him — 

Aramis *squeezes* her hands. "After he had spoken with them, and shared his secrets, the wolves — and he spoke *only* with Madame de la Fère and Madame de Tréville — were *eager* to speak with him. Eager to *know* him. He had earned their trust and goodwill for *himself* *already*, my Mother." 

"He was paving the *way* for us, yes, I see," she says, and narrows her eyes thoughtfully — 

Her eyes track rapidly — 

And then she focuses on Aramis again. "You have told him...?" 

"I have asked him to be more gentle with me in the future. *He* is now *very* aware that he will be more quick to act, less hesitant —" 

"And he is a very paranoid man... yes," d'Herblay says, and nods. "He will be watchful and careful with you. *Good*." 

"My Mother..." Aramis squeezes her hands. "My Mother, he will be watchful and careful with *both* of us." 

She frowns and looks away. "We will not speak about this." 

Aramis growls — 

She turns back. "Tell me what the *wolves* have said about our secrets." 

Aramis narrows his eyes. 

d'Herblay looks at him steadily — 

And Aramis nods. "The wolves are very beautiful, very healthy and young in appearance. de Tréville is even taller than the reports we received — I did *not* see either of them standing, but I believe de Tréville is the same height as Jason. She is also *obviously* neither boorish nor unsuited to her place in society. de la Fère has *no* grey in her curls, contrary to reports, and is also *entirely* aware of her beauty. She is not retiring in any way. I do not know where those reports came from." 

d'Herblay takes one of her hands back solely to wave it dismissively. "You must always assume that reports about happy, well-married noblewomen are tinged with jealousy." 

"Yes, my Mother. They do not appear beastly in the least, though, in private at least, they do *rumble* when they are pleased." 

"Oh, yes? Do they part their lips very often? Cock their heads to the side when they are curious more often than we do? Fidget?"

"I would say that they part their lips *perhaps* more often than I would expect two married noblewomen to do. And — they do show their tongues when they laugh, sometimes. The rest... no. Not that I was able to *see*." 

She hums. "You *feel* that they relax their controls on themselves when they are alone with their pack." 

"I am not certain if I *truly* feel that way or if my previous assumptions about werewolves are colouring my observations, my Mother." 

And then they both focus on *him*. 

I would be *deeply* shocked — and disturbed — if Amina and Marie-Angelique were *not* more animalistic in their behaviours when they were alone with their pack and whatever trusted friends they have made. Wolves — and shifters in general — are *terrible* at keeping secrets. They're not suited for it. It's not *in* them. It's one of the reasons they tend to retire from human society. 

But... *These* wolves have chosen a different path. They are powerful, and dangerous, and, I daresay, as ruthless in their *way* as you and your mother, Aramis. 

We must tread carefully... but we must also make them our *allies*. 

(Yes, my Teacher,) Aramis says. "My Mother, the wolves gave my mate their names, even though they had only spoken for a brief time. My mate is very knowledgeable in the ways of wolves and shifters, and many of them have been his friends and lovers over the years."

d'Herblay nods and gestures for him to continue. 

"He feels that *this* pack is new, and unique. He feels that *this* pack uses control over their natural instincts and desires that he has not seen wolves use before. He feels that *this* pack has ambitions and plans that it would be important and useful for us to both watch and attach ourselves to —" 

"Even if they get themselves beheaded and burnt on pyres laced with aconite...?" 

I —

"He believes he will be able to protect *us* from this, even if they do not let him protect *them*." 

d'Herblay inhales. "His... shadow-magic. The portals to other lands, and other spheres." 

"Yes, my Mother." 

She nods thoughtfully again. "M'sieu Blood, what *exactly* made you feel that our destinies were entwined with this pack?" 

Many things, Mademoiselle, but the fact that they have at least one seer —

"The pack has a seer, my Mother. They had received a prophecy that my mate would come to them on this specific day and change the course of the entire pack's lives — including their children. When my mate arrived, the women were ready to attack him, even though the All-Mother had told Lieutenant de Tréville that the pack had nothing to fear from him." 

"He charmed them so quickly?" 

I was — 

"He was honest, my Mother. He did not hesitate with them." 

d'Herblay raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis smiles wryly. "My Mother, we will have to teach my mate to be as good to us as he is to *other* magical beings." 

Jason *coughs*. 

"Yes, we *will*," d'Herblay says, taking her other hand away from Aramis and crossing her arms under her breasts — and crossing her legs under her skirts. 

Jason *and* Aramis focus attentively — 

"My Aramis. M'sieu Blood." 

"Yes, my Mother."

You have my absolute attention.

"He is listening *well*, my Mother." 

"At what point did the wolves begin discussing the possibility of my son being *mated* to one of *their* children?" 

*Aramis* coughs — 

Jason blushes. Nearly immediately, Mademoiselle — 

(My *Teacher*!) 

Jason strokes Aramis. All is well, mon grand. It is *possible* to be mated to more than one person. I may not be the best person to explain it, but Etrigan — and the All-Mother — could explain it *handily* — 

(I.) 

_I truly could, Aramis... assuming it came up._

(Do you think it *will*.) 

_Neither of us know. But it would be *one* explanation for the prophecy._

Yes — 

(Would another explanation be *you* or *Mother* being mated to one of them?) 

Jason stares. 

_Yes._

*Etrigan* — 

_It's just as logical an explanation as anything else._

I — 

(Oh, yes?) 

_Yes. The other explanations that make the most sense — but not *more* sense than one or all of us being mated to one or several of them — is that our powers and abilities will be needed for some plan or plans of theirs which we have not yet been privy to, or that our presence in each other's lives will either prevent something large from happening, or *cause* something large to happen. Or several large things in either or both directions._

(I see!) And then Aramis *looks* at Jason. (You could've told me this.) 

Mon grand — 

(You could have told me this and not *forced* poor Etrigan —) 

Poor — what — 

(— to interrupt his rest just to soothe and educate *your* mate.) 

Jason licks his lips. I apologize. 

Aramis raises an eyebrow. 

I apologize to *both* of you. 

Etrigan rumbles a laugh. _Accepted._

Thank you — 

(My teacher found the wolves very attractive...) Aramis says in a *dangerous* tone of voice. 

I — they are very beautiful women, yes, but — 

(You are not mated to them.) 

*No* — 

(You *desire* them, but you are not mated to them.) 

Murdering *boggarts* — mon grand, did you think I would have the *slightest* difficulty remaining faithful to *you*?

(Yes.) 

*Aramis* — 

(*If* you are *mated* to a second person.)

And — Jason cannot simply protest aggressively and blindly. Not with his mate. 

Aramis looks at him expectantly. 

Aramis, while it *is* true that there have been times, in the past, when I have had more than one lover at a time, it has been *rare*. I *much* prefer devoting myself to a single person *exclusively* — especially when that person *also* prefers to do things that way.

(You... have *only* had more than one lover when your *lover* has wished such a thing?) 

Yes. 

(Oh.) 

Yes...? 

(I must — no.) 

Aramis....? 

(I do *not* need to think about this,) Aramis says, and *grips* him.

Jason *grunts* — 

(My Teacher, my *mate*, has not *taken* enough for himself!) 

I — 

(My mate has not *demanded* enough for himself!) 

Aramis — 

(My mate will always have *everything* from me, but I will still *teach* him to demand, teach him to *take* what is *his*.) 

Jason growls and grips Aramis *back* — 

Grips him *everywhere* — 

Swallows his *spirit* — 

Aramis gasps — 

You're mine, Aramis... 

(Yes! Yes, I am!) 

And I will *always* make us *both* feel it, Jason says, and grips Aramis *harder* — 

Aramis *purrs* — 

Good boy, Jason says, and covers his spirit with *sucking* kisses — 

(UNH —) 

I will never turn away from you, mon grand... 

(No — no, you will not!) 

I will never... set you *free* of me, Jason says, and shivers. Not unless you *beg* for it, he says, and grips Aramis even harder. 

Aramis *groans* within their shared soul-space — 

Groans so *hungrily* — 

So *happily* — 

Mon grand... we will always, *always* be one. 

Aramis *clutches* him with every *ounce* of force he can bring to bear —

Shivers and *moans* — 

Jason rocks and pets and *soothes* him — 

(Always always *always* —) 

*Always*. 

Aramis sighs and lets himself be held and rocked. Aramis's peripheral vision gives Jason the sight of d'Herblay waiting for her son's focus to return —

Her gaze is a studying one...

But it is also hungry. 

(Ohh... please, my Teacher. *Please*.) 

Yes. First, tell your mother what we've discussed.

(Yes, my Teacher,) Aramis says, and looks to d'Herblay — 

"Tell me, tricky boy," she says, in an admirable impression of calm and patience... but. 

She is flushed, and her pulse is pounding in her throat. 

Aramis notes these things without internal comment — 

"My Mother, he spoke to the wolves about the possibility of me being mated to one of their children. He was *ready* for this to be true, because he had already known they were prepared for him *somehow*, and that was *one* of the possibilities which occurred to him right away." 

"Because he is always ready to lose love?" 

"Yes, my Mother. He was *not* immediately ready to accept the equally-possible eventuality that *you* or *he* could be mated to one of them or one of their children, and Etrigan had to explain it to me, as well as the possibilities that do not involve mating, as opposed to other large, important events happening — or not happening — because of our acquaintance with this pack." 

d'Herblay blinks — 

And *blinks* — 

And *starts* to lick her lips...

"My Mother? Are you well?"

Well, I feel better about my lack of aplomb. 

Aramis glares at him. 

And I am going to shut it... now. 

Aramis focuses on d'Herblay again. "My Mother —" 

"I..." d'Herblay shakes her head once. "It is *good* that you were able to make your mate see... sense, my tricky boy." 

"But are you —" 

"I am well," she says, and visibly pulls *her* aplomb back on like the armour it is. "I will say this: It is *possible*, but *unlikely* that *you* are mated to anyone in their pack." 

"Yes? Why so?" And Aramis sounds and feels *excited* — 

d'Herblay smiles. "I put *all* of my power into this summoning, tricky boy. I did not ask for the first likely person who would suit you a *little*, or the first likely person who would like you for a *time*." 

"You asked for the person who would suit me the *most* and who would love me *forever*, yes, you have taught me this!"

d'Herblay inclines her head. "Your mate is yours, and you are *his*. This will not change for any reason." 

"Yes, my Mother!"

Jason smiles. Thank you, Mademoiselle. Thank you for... everything. 

"My mate is full of gratitude!" 

d'Herblay smiles sharply. "Good." 

Jason *grins* — and licks his teeth. Why don't we talk about you.

"My mate wishes to speak about you." 

d'Herblay freezes for just a moment — and then lifts her chin.

Why don't we speak about your *fears*. 

"My mate wishes to —" 

d'Herblay stands, and steps away from the mirror. 

Aramis stands, as well — 

"I believe it is time for you to return to your *studies*, tricky boy." 

"*No*. It is *not*, my Mother." 

She narrows her eyes. "Did you wish for us to argue again? Is *that* the sort of man you wish to grow into?" 

"No, my Mother — on both counts." 

"Then —" 

"But you will *not* make unilateral decisions for this family. Not anymore." 

She rears back — and her hands twitch. But when she speaks, her tone is ruthlessly even. "Whom do you mean to include in this family, my Aramis." 

"You, me, and my mate — exactly who you *put* in this family, my Mother." 

She swallows — and nods once. 

"Yes?" 

"You are correct that all decisions must be discussed. I was wrong to imply otherwise." 

"Thank you —" 

"However, the time for such discussions must be agreed upon by all parties *involved* in those discussions, my Aramis," she says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis growls.

"My Aramis —" 

"We both *know* that you will find every *way* to avoid agreeing to this conversation — even if you must *leave*!" 

For a moment, d'Herblay shows her teeth in a *rictus*-grin —

And then she turns her back. 

Aramis growls again — 

And Jason touches his spirit. Only that. 

(*Yes*, my Teacher. My *mate*. My *family*. Come to us!) 

Are you — 

(*Now*!) 

Jason growls, and stands, and opens the portal *immediately*. 

He doesn't armor himself, but he dresses himself formally and well, and straps one of his uncursed blades to his back. 

With the shadows, this takes bare moments. 

He then steps through — to a *highly*-charged atmosphere. 

d'Herblay is still giving her son her back, but she is stiff and tense.

She had felt the portal open. 

"Mademoiselle d'Herblay. Aramis," Jason says, and closes the portal behind him. "I apologize for precipitating such an uncomfortable conversation, but I truly do believe it is necessary, and that we will *all* feel better on the other side of it." 

d'Herblay is silent. 

Aramis moves to her side and *grips* her shoulder. "My *Mother* —" 

"My Aramis. You made the decision to invite your mate here without consulting me." 

Aramis *jerks* his hand away — 

d'Herblay *shudders* — 

And Jason clears his throat *hard*. "If I *may*." 

"I was not speaking to you, M'sieu Blood —" 

"You were not. You had *also* given your son your *back* — instead of anything of you he could *live* with." 

"A man must make his way in the world without being tied to his mother's *apron* strings —" 

"My *Mother* —" 

"Very true," Jason says — 

Aramis grunts — 

And d'Herblay turns to look at *him*. 

Jason inclines his head. "You cut the leading strings years ago, Mademoiselle — and you were right to do so. But you never *once* took your warm, loving hands away from his own... not until today." 

The flinch is only behind her eyes, but it is clear enough. 

"You taught him that you would always be there for him. That in the world of the weak, the foolish, the craven, the mad, and the actively *evil*, that he could *always* count on *you*. And then, when you saw that he was ready to stop *playing* with sex and take serious lovers? You found him a *mate* — one *other* person whom he could always count on, no matter what —" 

"*Yes*, and now I must —" 

"Now you must listen, Mademoiselle, because you are operating under a very grave fallacy," Jason says, and raises two fingers. "You have spent your life loving your beautiful son with *all* of yourself. Loving him more than you have loved *anyone*, be they tribe or not. You love him *so* much that you told yourself that there was something *wrong* with your love, that it was *terrible* and *grasping* and *incorrect*. 

"That your love was *dangerous* — and must always be kept *chained*." 

"It *must* —" 

"Please listen to me, Mademoiselle. You have spent your adult years as a *prostitute*, and there is *no* one who knows better than you how the men and women who prey on children are made. *All* the ways they are made." 

She lifts her chin again — 

And Jason steps forward. "They speak of love, too, don't they? They whisper it, and shout it. They *seduce* with it — they seduce *endless* children with what they call love, and leave endless broken bodies and *crushed* spirits in their wake." 

"*Yes*, Blood. That is what they *all* do. I have had to *train* my Aramis to harden his *heart* so much — I had to *protect* him —" 

"Yes — and you did. You rather *armoured* him against *everyone* who would seek to use him — as opposed to *actually* loving him." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

d'Herblay inhales sharply — 

Aramis grips her hand. "My *Mother*, please *listen* —" 

"I... it's not enough. It's not *enough*. He must be *safe*." 

"*That's* not enough, Mademoiselle," Jason says. "After all, *I* was *quite* safe before you summoned me." 

She recoils. 

Jason inclines his head. "He must be safe, and *loved*, and *happy*. He must be fulfilled in his pursuits, and *surrounded* by those who excite his mind and soul and senses. And that will always include you." 

"*Yes*, my Mother, please —" 

She holds up a hand — 

"Do not *silence* me —" 

"I... must speak," she says, and shudders all over — 

And swallows — 

And looks *wounded* — 

But they can wait for her. Jason soothes Aramis's spirit as best as he can — 

And, after several long moments and a shuddering breath, d'Herblay reaches to pull her son close. 

Aramis goes immediately, crushing her to himself. 

It's easy to see the man he will be in just a few years — to see that man's passion and power and *fire*. 

In this moment, that fire is being used only to warm. 

Only to heal. 

Jason folds his hands in front of himself and waits. 

When d'Herblay pushes out of the embrace, Aramis resists, but — 

"Only for a little while, my tricky boy," she says, and smiles ruefully. 

"My Mother?" 

She shivers, and pulls back the rest of the way, and strokes Aramis's face. 

His forehead and cheeks. 

His mouth and chin. 

The bridge of his nose —

She nods, then, and turns to Jason. "M'sieu Blood, I am... a fearful woman." 

"We are all cornered by our fears sooner or later, Mademoiselle. You and Aramis have rescued me from quite a few of mine, and now I would like to return the favour." 

She smiles wryly. "With a blade...?" 

"Yes. Though perhaps not with the one on my back." 

She hums and nods, and steps closer to Jason, closing the distance between them. 

"Mademoiselle?" 

"You must know, M'sieu... Jason?" 

Jason inhales — and bows. When he stands straight: "Please, Mademoiselle, you may call me what you wish, but I would always prefer my name." 

"And you meant that with all yourself," she says, and nods thoughtfully. "I should not be surprised. I have only my fears to blame for the fact that I *am* surprised. Please, *Jason*, call me Claudette." 

Jason smiles. "Claudette," he says. "It is my pleasure." 

She inclines her head — and then sighs. "You must know..." She licks her lips. "*When* you bind the three of us, I will know, with all of *myself*, that my Aramis wants just this, that *you* want just this, that I have *made* myself desirable in these ways... and so on." 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Well... yes?" 

She smiles wryly again... and raises an eyebrow at Aramis. 

Aramis blinks — and winces. "She fears *this*, my Teacher. She fears that she has *manipulated* me and — and — my Mother, you did not raise me *wrong*!" 

Her smile is gone. 

"I have one question for you, Claudette."

"I —" 

"Is Aramis loathsome in your sight?" 

Claudette makes a strangled sound and slaps Jason *hard*, barely even flinching for the corruption — 

And Jason lets the blood drip freely. "Do you hate who Aramis has become?" 

She *snarls* and moves to slap him *again* — but Aramis stops her. "*Aramis* —" 

"My Mother. *Wait*." 

Her eyes glow a *hot* gold — 

And Jason nods once, blood dripping to the floor. "Do you find that the young man you *created* is so very *ugly*, so very *disgusting*, so very *irredeemable* and *broken*... that you can only say that you *raised him ill*." 

The gold in her eyes winks *out* —

Her expression twists into a horrified *mask* — 

And she turns to Aramis with a sob. "My — my — oh, my Aramis, I am so —" 

"Are you sorry for raising me *ill*." 

"*No*! You have *always* been my beautiful boy; my bright, shining —" And she switches to fervent, *desperate* Caló, stroking and patting at his face, his shoulders — 

Lifting his hands to kiss them — 

They are both *weeping* — 

And Aramis reaches for him with one hand even as he clings to his mother with the other — 

Jason takes his hand carefully in his gloved one, but stays back. 

(My Teacher, *please* —) 

I must be careful not to let you touch my skin, mon grand. Only that. 

Aramis whimpers — "I need my *mate*!" 

Claudette *jerks* back — 

"No, my Mother, I need you, *too*! Do not —" Aramis growls again and pulls a blade from his belt-sheath — and Jason sees, belatedly, that it is the one he'd given him. "*Please*, my Teacher. Please *now*." He turns back to Claudette. "And then we will talk more, and be together — please *always*, my Mother!" 

She shivers again. "I must never have you think that I love you with less than *all* of my soul," she says, and pulls the blade he'd given *her* from... *somewhere* in her skirts. 

"Oh, my Mother!" 

She smiles shakily. "I will not fail you again, my Aramis," she says, and holds the blade ready. "But *you* must be bound first." 

Aramis beams and kisses her cheeks and mouth — 

She purrs and bites his *ear* — 

He laughs so *brightly* — "I am *ready*, my Teacher. My *Jason*. Where must I cut? What must I *do*?" 

Jason — stares. 

A part of him — 

No. Aloud. "A part of me only wishes to ask if you're certain —" 

"My *Jason* —" 

"Only a part, mon grand," Jason says, and smiles. He knows it's hungry on his face. "The rest of me..." Jason hums. "Would you *prefer* to do the cutting yourself? Because..." And Jason licks his lips.

"Oh — *oh* —" And Aramis flips the blade neatly and offers it to him without another word. 

"Not that blade, mon grand. Remember: *that* blade can never be used against you," Jason says, and pulls *another* uncursed blade from his armoury. He's rather running *out*, but — "Roll your sleeve up for me. Please." 

Aramis tucks his blade away... and purses his lips. "You do not wish to cut... somewhere else?" 

Claudette laughs throatily and taps her blade against her fingertip. 

Jason hums. "I would very *much* like to *bite* you in many, many places, mon grand... but not yet." 

"You will bite me hard enough to break the skin?" 

"I will bite you *precisely* as hard as pleases us *both*, mon grand — and no harder." 

Aramis bites his lip — 

Flushes *deeply* — 

His musk is rising — 

And Jason can't not know that Aramis — *his* Aramis — has dreamed of being bitten so *very* hard, bitten and bled and *marked* — 

Jason growls — 

Aramis jumps — "Your growl — it comes from everywhere!" 

"Oh, yes, mon grand. That, too, is one of my curses. Come to me now." 

Aramis beams and *yanks* up the sleeve of his shirt as he walks — 

*Offers* himself — 

And Jason must take. He exhales shadows to hold his Aramis *still* — 

"*Oh* —" 

"Not long, mon grand," Jason says, and slashes his arm shallowly — 

"Yes! *Yes*!" 

"Remember, mon grand — the hard part will be over *quickly*," Jason says, and *darts* in — 

Sucks the runnels of blood away *gently* — 

But Aramis is whimpering and fighting the hold Jason on him — 

Fighting so *hard* — 

Oh, mon grand... Jason strokes his spirit gently, *firmly*, even as he corrupts his blood — 

(I —I — oh...) 

It's all right...

(You are you are — we are —) 

I'll never *injure* you — 

(I know this thing! I — I — oh, my Jason, I feel you so much! I thought I could *already* feel you — but this I — and I can —) 

And, abruptly, there is the familiar *reach* of someone taking advantage of a *blood*-binding — 

Of a *spirit*-mage taking advantage — and *adding* to the binding. 

Offering *more* to the binding.

Demanding more *from* the binding — 

Aramis — wait — 

(We are *one*, my Jason, and I think I can see — oh, yes! This!) 

And Jason grunts and falls to his *knees* as something opens within him, something opens and changes and *blooms* — 

Something opens and reaches and reaches and *swallows* Aramis's spirit — 

Aramis gasps — 

Staggers — 

And exhales shadows that *immediately* clutch *Jason* — and Claudette. 

Well. 

That...

That bears *thought*...

_Jason..._ And Etrigan sounds *shaken* —

I — do *you* know what just happened? 

_I —_

**I think I am alive. I think you are my fathers. Please, would you tell me if I have a mother? I would appreciate knowing that,** the *shadow*-being says. 

Jason *goggles* — 

_That just happened._

Jason *coughs* — 

"My Jason? Please tell me what has happened! I feel — I feel so *different*! So *strong*, and — and... these shadows..." Aramis swallows, and his eyes are wide — 

And the shadows he'd *called* are squeezing Jason tightly — and *walking* Claudette *closer*. 

Jason attempts to call them off — he can't. 

He *can't*. 

And Claudette's eyebrows are in her *hairline*." 

"I — in *brief*, mon grand, you managed to *awaken* the shadow-being within me —" 

"I!" 

"He is now communicating with both Etrigan and me —" 

"Oh — *oh* —" 

"— and he has *gifted* you with shadow-magery. I do not know why, nor do I know what *else* you managed to cause to happen when you changed the blood-binding between...." But.

"My Jason? Why did you stop speaking?" 

Jason — stares. 

At Aramis's hands and wrists. 

At Aramis's utterly *unmarked* hands and wrists. No scars. No marks. Not — not even the ones he *must* have gained from learning how to use a blade effectively...

"My *Jason* —" 

Jason *growls*. "Cut yourself. Do it now." 

"What — I —" But Aramis obeys — 

The shadows Aramis had called peel themselves from around Jason and Claudette to *nudge* at the wound — 

The *healing* wound. 

The wound that is healing without so much as a *touch* of magery from *any* of them. 

Jason inhales with a shudder — and smiles helplessly. "Mon grand... my immortality is *yours* now." 

"I. Mine?" 

Jason licks his lips. "Yours," he says, and can't keep the tremor out of his voice. His eyes are wet. 

"I never have to *leave* you?" 

"Oh, mon grand, we never have to leave each *other*," Jason says, and stands, and pulls Aramis into a kiss. He makes it deep, and hard, and just as grateful and *needy* as he feels — 

He can't stop *weeping* — 

He can *hear* Etrigan and the shadow-being speaking, but he can't parse the *words* — 

And he must kiss Aramis, must suck at his soft lips, run his hands through his hair, grip his shoulders, his arms — 

Kiss him all over his *face* — 

"*Yes*, my Jason!" 

— and bite his throat. *Hard*. 

"*Ai*!" 

He growls then, and *holds* the bite — 

And Aramis purrs and purrs and — pushes him. 

Jason steps back immediately — and turns to Claudette with a grin. "You're absolutely correct, mon grand... we have business to attend to." 

Claudette *looks* at them *both*. 

"Do *not*, my Mother! It is *time*!" 

And then she smiles ruefully again and rolls up her sleeve. "But you will *go* after this, Jason —" 

"My *Mother* —" 

"And *talk* to the other beings in his *soul*." 

Aramis winces. "I... yes, he must. This is so." 

"I will contact you *both* as soon as we all have a better idea of what's going on," Jason says, and — pauses before licking the blade clean. 

Claudette raises an eyebrow. 

"I believe your blood should *always* mingle with that of your son, Claudette." 

She takes a deep breath — and smiles. "I believe *our* blood should always mingle, Jason." 

He growls low — and slices his own arm with the bloody blade. 

She licks her lips — and offers her arm. "Now. Please." 

"As you say, Claudette," he says, and holds her still with his power. 

"Oh..." 

"Only for a few moments. This I vow," he says, and slashes her arm — 

And darts in — 

And the *moment* he takes their mingled blood, she *reaches* for him, fierce and deft and *demanding*. 

She ignores her body's need to fight — 

She ignores the fact that she *is* fighting — 

And the blood makes its own path, but she seeks for the path Aramis had built with the shadow-being's help — and finds it. 

And now Jason can sense it, as well, sense something which had simply never *been* there before, something — 

Something beautiful and new. 

An end to loneliness. 

(Will you treat this gift the way it *should* be treated, Jason...?) 

Claudette, if you're asking whether I intend to *wallow* in it for the rest of my days while positively *showering* the people who *gave* it to me in everything they could possibly need, then... yes, Jason says, and pulls back without licking the wound closed. 

As he suspected, it heals on its own. 

He smiles helplessly, takes Claudette's hand in his gently, and bends to kiss the back of it.

When he stands again, she cups his face in both of her hands and stares into his eyes.

Her own eyes are wide and wet — 

Her hands are shaking — 

And then she pulls him down into a *hard* kiss on the mouth and kisses for both cheeks before biting his ear. "We will always be family."

Jason shudders and opens his mouth to agree — and a moan comes out, loud and needy and hungry and — 

And Aramis is in his arms — 

And Claudette is hugging them *both* — 

And Jason can only sob for long moments while they whisper to him in Caló, and stroke his spirit — and skin.


	12. Everyone deserves a family.

When Jason does take his leave, Claudette insists that Aramis go *with* him, which leads to Aramis suggesting — aggressively — that they all go *together* —

Which almost leads to an *argument* —

Until Jason reminds them both, in their *souls*, that Claudette will be with them no matter *where* her *body* happens to be. 

Aramis beams for that — 

Claudette blinks as if remembering what she had chosen all over again, perhaps in the context of just what she may or may not have been sending Aramis to *do* with Jason — 

(Oh, my *Jason*...) 

And Claudette colours and smiles wryly. "I *will* grow accustomed to this." 

Jason bows slightly. "Of course you will. For now, Aramis and I will leave you to continue wrapping up your *business*..." 

"Oh! I had forgotten that you had to *do* this!" 

Claudette *looks* at Aramis — 

Aramis smiles *sheepishly* — 

And Claudette hums. "Thank you very much, Jason. I will see you both *later*." 

They leave, and Jason takes them back to his empty rooms, which seem even emptier and more *inadequate* with Aramis at his side. 

But. 

Aramis is a shadow-mage now. 

Jason need not *protect*...

"My Jason...?" And Aramis turns away from carefully examining Jason's mirror to study *him*. 

Jason smiles wryly. "Give me just *one* moment to make this place a bit more livable," he says. 

"There is nothing wrong —" 

"Aramis." 

Aramis blushes. "I..." 

Jason hums. "You *will* be comfortable and happy with me, mon grand. I will need training on that score, but... not in *all* ways," he says, and summons shadows to remove the straw-tick mattress the rooms had come with. He'll be buying the building soon enough. 

Once he'd killed everything living inside the thing, it had been entirely adequate for *him* — especially since he wasn't *sleeping* on it — but...

He has other concerns now. 

The bed *frame* is big enough for the perfectly wonderful — if somewhat overstuffed — mattress he'd purchased a generation or so ago and put into storage just in *case* he acquired another student who would agree to live with him. 

However, anything *he* keeps in his possession for very long... 

"Oh!" 

The shadows which bring the overstuffed mattress through the portal are *lively* things, *curious* things, and barely wait long enough to set the mattress down on the frame and straighten the bedding before *darting* for Aramis — 

Examining him and coiling round and *round* him — 

Aramis laughs and pets them — 

Attempts to urge them to move in different ways — 

Attempts to *speak* with them — 

"Ai, my Jason, they will not listen!" 

"They're not yours, mon grand. To be honest, they're only *barely* mine, at this point," Jason says, and makes certain to be entirely obvious about his *strain* as he brings them to heel — and absorbs them again. 

"Ohh... But why?" 

"You're going to be tempted to set your shadows free to *work* for you, mon grand. You're going to *need* to set your shadows free to work for you," Jason says, and brings in paintings, more furniture — 

Just a little. 

Just a little. 

Aramis studies everything as it arrives, stroking the shadows which bring the items, and making soft noises of pleasure as they stroke *him* — 

"As the shadows do more and more work for you, they will learn, and grow, and... become," Jason says, and rescues an escritoire and from a storage compartment he hadn't thought about in forty years. 

"What does this mean?" 

"When the shadows *first* leave me, their will is *my* will. The longer they spend *outside* of me, the more their will becomes *their will*." 

"Oh. Oh. They are *people*?" 

"That's a difficult distinction to make, mon grand. I have studied them extensively, and so have many of the other shadow-mages of my acquaintance. *Countless* attempts to communicate have been made, spirit-mages have been enlisted in attempts to reach souls — yes, much as you're doing now, mon grand." 

"I..." Aramis frowns, and attempts to touch what lives inside *every* shadow currently nuzzling at him. 

Jason folds his hands in front of himself and waits. 

Aramis reaches more deeply — 

*Seeks* — 

*Frowns* — 

Jason raises an eyebrow... 

"I don't..." 

"Yes, mon grand...?" 

"These shadows *come* from you, from your *power*, but they *are* all independent of you, and of each *other*. That much is *clear*, my Jason. But... I cannot feel... anything." 

"Such were the results of *every* experiment that *I* am aware of, mon grand — but don't let that stop you from doing your own. After all, you managed something today that no one had managed for *centuries*," Jason says, and smiles sharply. 

Aramis flushes — 

Licks his lips — 

And looks up at Jason through his eyelashes. 

Jason laughs *hard*. "*Yes*, mon grand?" 

Aramis bites the tip of his tongue —

"You are delightful and *dangerous* and you *must* tell me what I can do for you. Now." 

Aramis *grins*. "My Jason, *you* must speak with Etrigan and — and does the shadow-being have a *name*?" 

"I don't *know*, mon grand —" 

"Don't you think you *should* know?"

Jason hums. "You're absolutely correct," he says, and summons a positive *clutch* of shadows — 

"Oh —" 

— and sends them to tug at Aramis's clothes...

"My *Jason*. You wish me naked?" 

"I wish to hold you close, skin to *skin*, as we *all* discuss that which needs to be discussed." 

Aramis *beams* at him — 

Jason grins *helplessly* — 

"I would be more than willing to strip *myself* for my Jason..." And Aramis swivels his slim *hips* — 

Jason strangles his cock with a shadow *reflexively* - 

Aramis frowns. "What did you... I felt..." 

"Ah... I rather *disciplined* my cock so it wouldn't get any *ideas*, mon grand." 

"With a shadow?" 

"Yes —" 

"And I *want* your cock to get ideas! *Many* ideas!" 

Jason coughs. "I — that was a reflex, mon grand. I'll be doing it as *little* as possible. I *promise*," he says, and *unwinds* the shadow from his cock, urging it to strip him, instead. 

"Oh — oh, yes?" 

Jason inclines his head — and urges the other shadows to tug on Aramis's clothes again. 

"You do not want me to strip myself?" 

"I do not — this time. I want to keep *some* control, for the time being." 

Aramis gives him a *wicked* look... and then very clearly offers himself. 

Jason hums and tastes the bit of sweat on his throat with a shadow — 

"Oh* —" 

Jason licks his *lips* — 

"My Jason..." 

"Delicious boy," he says — really, he's doing his *own* purring — and lets the shadows free to strip them both at speed. 

"This — this is not as uncomfortable as I expected!" 

"I've had a *fair* amount of practice..." 

Aramis gives him a *hot* look. 

Jason laughs. "*Mostly* on *myself*, mon grand." 

Aramis nods once. 

"Come to me," Jason says once they're naked, and beckons. 

Aramis obeys immediately, pressing close and lifting his arms around Jason's neck. He raises an eyebrow. 

Jason hums and strokes Aramis's sides, his hips, his back and arse... 

"Will you fuck me, my Jason...?" 

"*Just* as much as we both desire." 

Aramis cocks his head to this side and smiles sharply. "You will not make me wait to heal...?" 

Jason laughs just a *little* evilly. "You forget, mon grand: So long as you stay well-*fueled*, you will heal near-instantaneously from *everything*." 

Aramis inhales sharply — 

"We need never wait." 

"Oh, my *Jason*..." 

"My Aramis. My beautiful, *beautiful* —" 

"I... felt you." 

"Mm...?"

Aramis looks up at him through his lashes again. "You hungered for me from the beginning, my Jason. You hungered and you desired and you..." He licks his lips. "You wanted to have me as your *student*, and there was such passion for this, such *force* to your *need*. You *seduced*, the way no one had ever tried to seduce me unless it was for *sex*." 

Jason strokes his way back to Aramis's hips and squeezes firmly. "Mon grand, you must never doubt that I'm hungry for absolutely all of you. Every *moment* of your company spent doing every possible *thing* —" 

"I know this!" 

"Making love with you encompasses only *some* of the activities I'd like to —" 

"I know this, as well!" 

Jason raises an eyebrow *slowly*." 

"My Jason, I wish to have *everything* with *you*. It's only... I want you to *know*..." And Aramis shares himself, shares his being, shares his *soul* — 

And Jason knows, with everything he is, that Aramis had wanted *Jason* from the moment he'd felt Jason studying the Yrrxx history in his London home. From the moment he'd felt Jason's *knowledge* and *age* and *power* and *openness* to... 

But Aramis had not had words for what he'd felt in Jason. 

He'd only known that he *hadn't* felt it in anyone but himself and his mother, that the world had seemed so small, so close, so lonely — 

That he'd never truly thought there would be anyone he *could* want — 

Could *need* and *love* — 

Not like this. 

Not like *family*. 

"Oh, my Aramis..." 

"My Jason. You see?" 

"I do. I promise there *are* other people who are... large, out there." 

Aramis squeezes him tightly. 

Jason grins *rapaciously*. "I promise that I won't be giving you to *any* of them." 

Aramis *beams* again — 

"*My* Aramis. Come to bed with me. *Lie* with me —" 

"And rub my skin all over yours?" 

"That *could* be a *trifle* distracting..." 

Aramis laughs and *wriggles* in Jason's arms — 

Jason laughs hard and *walks* them to bed — 

Aramis continues to *wriggle* — 

And *shimmy* — 

And rub all *over* — well. 

It takes some doing to get them *fully* onto the bed, and, by the time they manage it, they're rather *braided* together. 

It's perfect. 

"Is it, my Jason?" 

Jason kisses Aramis soundly, *deeply* — Every moment with you, mon grand. Every. *Moment*. 

Aramis purrs into his mouth — 

Pushes a hand into Jason's shadow-tied *hair* — 

Jason releases it — 

And Aramis pets him, runs his fingers *through* Jason's hair, *nuzzles* him — 

Jason is *moments* away from *pinning* Aramis and — 

And Etrigan is *looking* at *both* of them. 

(Eee —) 

Yes, *quite*, mon grand, Jason says, kissing Aramis *softly* before pulling back just far enough that they're breathing a bit more than each other's breath. And then he focuses *inward*: Terribly sorry, Etrigan — 

_You mustn't think I don't understand your distraction._

I know you *do* —

_However._

Ah — yes. How is... has he chosen a name? Has he chosen a *gender*?

Etrigan raises an eyebrow at him from behind their privacy wall — and then gestures to the *new* *compartment* that exists between them. 

The shadow-being is there, in the form he has always worn. The mane is the same, and the blood-dipped arms, and the claws. The impressive cock is *also* the same, as are the roiling pits where eyes should be, and the seemingly thousands of needle-teeth. 

He is waiting. 

And Jason... 

If there is one thing he would tell all of the people he has loved over the course of his existence, all of the people who had loved *him* — or the pieces of himself he had given them — 

If there is one thing about being mated to *Aramis* he would tell them all, it is this: He is made new. 

He is not unafraid, and he is not a wholly different *man* than he was a week ago, but there are some differences, and one of them is the fact that now, when faced with his companion of multiple centuries and his *child* of multiple centuries, he can *breathe* — and *listen* to his *instincts*. 

And thin *his* side of the walls between them all to *nothing*. 

He feels the surprise and happiness — *joy* — of Etrigan and the shadow-being immediately — 

And they thin *their* walls, too. 

And... 

And they come together — if never quite as *one* person — and touch. 

Hand to flaming hand to *clawed* hand —

And Aramis comes to them from within the cramped space Jason had kept himself to within his own mind for centuries — 

Aramis smiles so happily, so curiously, so *hungrily* — 

And all of them smile *back*. 

Etrigan banks his flames so that Aramis might touch, and the shadow-being curls his claws inward so that Aramis can caress the back of his hand —

**I know. The touch of your spirit,** the shadow-being says.

(Oh, yes? What does it feel like to you? And what should I call you?) 

**Your spirit feels warm and... quick. But not like the warmth of Etrigan's flames, and not like the rapidity of Jason's blood. It seems very strange to come to feel another being so intimately. Are there many other beings? Additionally, Etrigan was named by his mother, and informed me that Jason's first name was given to him by his father. I believe I should be named by a parent.**

(This is well! My mother, my good mother, she *marked* me with my name, so that I would always be at least a little bound to her by it. This is customary among our people, and it was very strange to me when I realized that other people did not do things that way! And, yes, there are *many* other beings, of many different *species* —) 

Jason clears his throat and squeezes the shadow-being's other hand — 

The shadow-being looks to him — 

Jason smiles. You need not come to know or understand *all* of them, or even more than the most *minuscule* *fraction* of them. 

_Jason is absolutely correct. It would be frankly impossible *to* come to know or understand all of them, or even a statistically significant fraction of them, or even a statistically *insignificant* fraction of them._

**I am... daunted.**

Etrigan squeezes the shadow-being's shoulder — 

And Aramis caresses the shadow-being with his spirit — 

**Oh... that is... I have wanted that.**

(Yes? Yes?) 

**I have spoken to Etrigan about my memories. I have... many moments within me, over the centuries, during which I have wished to touch, and give... something.**

_Comfort?_

**I...**

Affection, perhaps...? 

**Both words, in your minds, mean what I want them to,** the shadow-being says, and nods slowly and thoughtfully. I have been... safe, within you and Etrigan, Jason. You and Etrigan have not always been safe. 

Aramis squeezes the shadow-being's hand again — (You wish to give more than safety. You wish to *have* more than safety.) 

The shadow-being stares down *into* Aramis for a long moment — 

Aramis looks back *fearlessly* — 

And the shadow-being nods again, and turns back to him an Etrigan. **I have felt love, and wanted love, and wanted to *give* love.**

Jason... aches. There is so much he can *feel* from the shadow-being — 

There is so much — 

He can feel all the ways the shadow-being *came* from him and Etrigan, from their selves and their spirits and their *magic*, twined and woven and bound together to make something entirely new, and powerful, and —

He can feel... 

Jason had never thought he would know what it meant to have a child. 

_You will have love,_ Etrigan *vows*.

You will have love, Jason *curses*, words rising before he can stop himself, words rising nearly before he can *think*. You will *have* love, and you will *give* love, and you will *drown* in love and never wish to rise again. You will sink *deep* into every passion until the exquisite pain of living fills every one of your senses and you can't remember *anything* of your un-life. You will *love*, and love *forever*. 

The shadow-being *grunts* — **Father...**

Aramis stares at him — 

_Was that truly necessary, Jason...?_

This is why no one invites me to *Christenings* — 

(I.)

And the shadow-being... laughs. 

Laughs openly, freely, *beautifully* — 

_Oh..._

Aramis is *smiling* — 

And oh, so is Jason, because the laughter comes from everywhere, comes from every space they inhabit, inside of them and *outside* where their bodies dwell — 

It's not *bright* laughter by any means, but — 

But it's so *joyful*, and it's rich, and it's *young* for all of its depth and rich pleasure. 

And it's full of love. 

Etrigan cups the shadow-being's face, smiling helplessly and wonderingly... 

And the shadow-being's laughter winds down. **Father...?**

Etrigan narrows his burning eyes in a smile. _You've been marked now, if not quite with a *name*. I can tell that it pleases you, and that pleases *me*._

**My happiness... is your happiness?**

_Yes,_ Etrigan says — 

*Yes*, Jason says — 

(This is how it *always* should be!) Aramis says. (This is how it always *must* be when there is a parent and child.) And he nods with absolute certainty. 

The shadow-being looks to Aramis — and nods solemnly. 

(Now, my Jason, my Etrigan!)

_Hm._

(Now you must give him a name!) 

I... 

Etrigan turns back to the shadow-being. _Do you have thoughts about how you wish to be called? Any at all?_

Jason tries not to look *desperately* hopeful — 

**No, I don't. I wasn't quite... I don't think I was enough of an individual before I awakened to truly think about it. Not... quite.**

Jason tries not to look desperately *disappointed* — 

And the shadow-being laughs again, laughs beautifully, laughs almost *raucously*, and this — 

This is going to become dangerously addictive *quickly*. 

Jason hums and squeezes his hand firmly. My son. *Our* son. Do you understand that *any* name we choose for you can be *changed* — either by you, yourself, or by us at your *desire*?

The shadow-being tugs his hand free and reaches to touch Jason's ever-beardless cheek. **I understand that I may change many things about myself,** he says, and abruptly the form he had always taken is gone, replaced with a shifting roil of shadows — 

Replaced with a giant and prowling and dangerously-muscular umbral *cat* — 

Replaced with a *perfect* replica of Ser *Darwyn* as he had looked when Jason had been *fifteen*, tall and broad and bearded, hale and whole and *happy* — 

Replaced with a perfect replica of the *earth*-elemental who's been *Etrigan's* lover off and on since the twelfth *century*, in her crystal form, and the chatoyance of her skin is no more dazzling than Etrigan's expression of absolute wonder — 

And then... he is himself again. 

Or is he?

**I am shadow, Father and Father. Shadow is... change, more than it is anything else.**

_Then perhaps we should give you a name which reflects —_

**Wait, Father and Father. Please.**

We are listening, Jason says.

Etrigan inclines his head — 

**I would like to be... marked permanently, as Aramis has described. I would like one part of me to be only one thing, no matter what else about me changes, throughout the centuries. I would like to know if that is a reasonable desire.**

(It is a perfect and beautiful desire!) And Aramis squeezes the shadow-being's wrist encouragingly.

Jason grins at Aramis because he must — 

And Etrigan rumbles a laugh. _I have wished, at times, that I were less... static. But I understand your desire for the exact opposite, my son. It is entirely reasonable, and we will give it to you._

Agreed, Jason says, and turns to Etrigan with an eyebrow up. 

Etrigan nods once, and the spirit-flame on his left index finger ignites. _We will inscribe you with the runes in my first language for 'love', 'loved', and 'male'._

You will never escape the mark, not even after *we* are dust, Jason says.

_The runic language is only to be used for the most dire workings..._

And so we will teach you words in other languages which are... close enough. Like 'Amis'. 

Aramis blushes *deeply* and shivers —

And the shadow-being strokes his cheeks. **Please. Say my name, Aramis.**

(Oh — ohh... *Amis*! I wish to be your family *forever*, Amis!) 

This time, when the shadow-being — when *Amis* changes himself, he makes himself into a taller, older-appearing version of Aramis, dark and shifting and sharp-toothed and strange. 

Aramis beams and hugs him for long moments. 

And, when they separate, Etrigan sets to work — he chooses Amis's chest for their mark — while Amis sighs and weeps shadowy tears. 

Jason squeezes his hand more firmly. "It will not take long, my son." 

Amis grins through his tears. **You are making me — creating me — all over again, Father and Father. Please, take your time.**

Etrigan hums — 

Jason laughs helplessly — 

His eyes are wet, as well. 

When Etrigan is finished, Jason bleeds onto the spirit-burns, binding and healing them forever. 

Amis weeps and laughs and holds them within himself, growing larger and larger until he can encompass them *all*. 

They stay right where they are.


	13. In which young people are very helpful, all things considered.

Jason opens his eyes to the sensations of being full, and watched, and... rested. 

Rested?

"*Finally*! I thought you would never *wake*!" 

Wake — "I don't — sleep —" Jason rolls out of bed, arming and armouring himself and throwing a particularly *nastily*-cursed shield around Aramis on the bed. 

"My *Jason*." 

And — 

There is nothing. 

There are no *threats*. 

There is nothing attacking or *moving* to attack —

And Etrigan clears his throat. 

Etrigan, what in all the *hells* — 

_Amis decided we needed a nap._

*What*? Doesn't he know — but of course he doesn't. Amis — 

**I watched over you both.**

Jason's blood turns to *ice*. Amis, you don't *know* all the threats — 

**I studied them thoroughly while I was holding you all.**

I. 

**I took the time to teach Aramis about some of them.**

You... hm. "Aramis..." 

"Yes, my Jason?" And Aramis is looking at him with bright eyes — 

*Alert* eyes — 

Faintly-*golden* — 

"You were helping Amis watch over us, weren't you." 

"You are my *mate*," Aramis says, in what Jason suspects is the same tone of voice he would use to say something along the lines of 'You are acting as though you sneezed out the entirety of your brain.'

Jason licks his lips. 

Banishes the shield around Aramis — 

Aramis shifts position until he is sitting on his *heels* — 

"You were uncomfortable —" 

"*Yes*, my Jason." 

"I apologize —" 

Aramis waves a hand. "I told Amis that you would not wake up at your best. You need *preparation* for great changes in your life." 

"I..." And Jason can't help but grin like a fool. "You know me." 

Aramis smiles softly. "I know my mate, and my mate knows *me.*. This is proper." 

"So it is," Jason says, and, after a moment and a *deep* breath, stands down, putting the armour and bastard sword *away* again, and — Amis... 

**Father and Father... did I make a mistake?**

_You gave us a gift, my son. A magnificent gift._

A beautiful, *rich* gift... that none of us were *truly* prepared for. 

**But... but you would wish to teach me about the threats more directly.**

_Yes._

**And... also teach me as much as possible about using fire-magery, and blood-magery, even though I can bring more force to bear with shadow-magery.**

Just so. You never know when you will come across a *new* enemy, or an enemy who has simply *inoculated* themselves against what *had* been your best weapons. 

**Oh...**

_You see?_

**Yes, Father and Father. I was not prepared, and so I left all of us unprepared. I apologize. I only... it was such a great desire within both of you.**

We know you didn't mean to cause harm, Amis.

_We know you never would, and we are not angry with you._

We merely ask that you show care with how you use your powers and abilities. It would, perhaps, be best... 

_If you were to *ask* one of us before you do anything... precipitous._

**Yes, Father and Father. I will ask. Please... teach me how to protect both of you as soon as possible. You both deserve to rest.**

He and Etrigan stroke and warm Amis *together* — 

**Please...**

We will teach you. 

_We will not ever leave you in ignorance._

And Aramis joins in the caresses. (This is so, Amis! They will *always* teach. They cannot *help* but do this.) 

**Truly...?**

Oh, yes. As a matter of fact — 

_As a matter of *fact*, Jason, it isn't your turn, yet,_ Etrigan says, and grins. 

Arse. 

Etrigan laughs, and beckons Amis close. 

Jason watches them for a few moments longer — 

Watches as Etrigan forms a spirit-flame in the palm of his hand and describes *how* he had called it to Amis — 

They will be well. 

He turns his attention back to Aramis, and the world outside of his own soul. 

Aramis is still kneeling on the bed. He is still nude, and smiling, and his soft hair is tousled, and his eyes are *brightly* wicked, because he knows *exactly* what Jason is thinking. 

Aramis nods slowly and kneels *up* — 

Arches back and plants one hand behind him, using the other to stroke down and down from his collarbone to his bellybutton to his *cock* — 

"Oh, Aramis..." 

He laughs as throatily as his mother, and begins to stroke himself slowly. "Do you like this...?"

"I appreciate *all* beautiful art..." 

Aramis purrs, cock thickening and lifting and *dripping* just like that —

"Beautiful..." 

And Aramis gathers slick on his fingertips, stretching the sticky strands out *invitingly*, and — 

Right. "Aramis." 

"Yes, my Jason...?" 

"How much do you *need* to tease me?" 

"You do not like *this*?" 

"Oh, I *do*," Jason says, climbing onto the bed and stroking up Aramis's inner thigh with two fingers — and *not* touching his balls. 

"Oh —" 

"I like it very, very much." 

And Aramis smiles and *undulates*, loose-spined and lovely. 

Jason growls — 

Aramis parts his lips and *keeps* undulating — and goes back to stroking his stiff, pretty cock. 

"Beautiful. But why don't we set the teasing aside — for now — and get down to the business of teaching each other how to *please* each other." 

"This does not pleasure you, my Jason?" 

"Not as much as your unalloyed and honest reactions would," Jason says, and meets Aramis's eyes steadily. 

Aramis nods thoughtfully. "In truth, I knew this," he says, and stops stroking himself, kneeling up once more. 

"Yes?" 

"Mother said you would demand this of me — and *mean* it far more than *most* men who demanded such things." 

Jason grins. "Of course she knew." 

Aramis nods decisively. "Please touch me, my Jason. Please show me how you *wish* to touch me."

"Mm. That could take some *time*, mon grand..." And Jason cups Aramis's back with one hand and gently pushes him down with the other. 

"Oh, yes?" 

"*Oh*, yes," Jason says, and begins to pet Aramis firmly, hungrily, *greedily* — 

Aramis *moans* — 

His cock *jerks* — 

He smiles *delightedly* — 

Jason grins more. "You like this..." 

"It is a very honest touch!" 

"You want *my* honesty —" 

"Always!" 

"And that is what you will have, mon grand," Jason says, and thumbs Aramis's small nipples *hard* — 

"*Unh* —" 

*Twice* — 

"*Yes*!" 

"But I have other ways to be honest..." 

"Yes — yes? Show me!" 

"Here," Jason says, and grips Aramis's left shoulder with warm, gentle firmness while tracing *soft* spirals around and around and *around* his cock. 

"My *Jason*!" 

"I enjoy doing this — and things like this — *quite* a bit." 

"You — you —" 

"You know that it's true. Don't you?" 

"*Yes*! Somehow!" 

"Do you wish me to stop?" 

"I..." 

"You must be honest with me, mon grand. There is no other option," Jason says, and slows his spirals *down*." 

"Nn — *please*!" 

"You must *always* be honest with me. That is the *only* way to get what you want." 

"My Jason, my Jason, you must not — I will not — please!" 

"That is the only way for *both* of us to get what we want, mon grand," Jason says, and runs his fingertips lightly up the underside of Aramis's cock. 

"*No* — I — please *stop*!" 

Jason changes his touch to a firm *grip* on Aramis's cock *immediately*. "Is this better?" 

Aramis slumps in relief — 

And breathes — 

And *breathes* — 

"Aramis... do you need us to pause?" 

Aramis looks up at him with wide eyes. "My Jason is training me." 

Jason pants once — just once. "Yes." 

Aramis licks his lips... and smiles sweetly. "My Jason should have just *said*," he says, and shivers. "I will be *good*. I will not be a slow *student*." 

"Oh... you never, ever could be." 

"I apologize for taking so long —" 

"Shh. You didn't want to deny me something you knew I liked, yes?" 

"No, I *didn't*." 

"But now you understand, a little better, that I want your honesty and *pleasure* even more than I want incidental things which have pleased me with other lovers?" 

Aramis shivers. "It. It is a hard lesson, my Jason." 

Jason moves his other hand from Aramis's shoulder to his cheek. "My Aramis. It would not please me to do something with you that you disliked." 

"But if I *taught* myself to like it —" 

"Or if *I* taught you to like it...?" 

"Yes! You are a very good teacher!" 

"And you are an excellent student. But I promise you, mon grand, that making love for the very first time is *not* the time for that sort of lesson — assuming *any* time ever is." 

"You must not *protect* me from yourself!" 

And Jason considers that for a moment —

Considers the scents and *feel* of Aramis's *need* — 

And there is only one way to give answer: "Very well, mon grand. In the *future*, we will try to train you to take *everything* I like sexually. I will protect you from *nothing* —" 

"*Yes*, my Jason!" 

"However —" 

"*No* —" 

"Shh. *However*, in return, you must give me your promise that *if* and *when* the lessons grow too enervating, too difficult, too *much*? If they ever reach a point where the *discomfort* outweighs the *pleasure* of making love? You will call a *halt*, allowing us to begin again another *time*." 

"Oh. Ohh..." 

"Yes...?" 

"*Yes*, my Teacher — I mean —" 

Jason laughs — and then leans in to laugh into Aramis's mouth. Did you think I would tire of hearing that, my Aramis...? I will teach you everything I *can*. 

Aramis purrs and purrs — and then licks and teases and coaxes Jason's tongue into his mouth. 

Mmm. Absolutely...

And Jason makes the kiss a slow and *lazy* one, a *playful* one — 

He gives his Aramis every opportunity to show him his *skill* — 

They are both heating with *flush* — 

Aramis's cock is leaking on Jason's *hand* — 

*Jerking* in Jason's *fist* — 

(Oh, my Jason, I love you so *much*!) 

And I will love you when the stars themselves are only cold and quiescent *dust*. 

Aramis moans and *arches* beneath Jason — 

*Shoves* into Jason's fist — 

*Yes*, Jason says, breaking the kiss and pulling back enough to *loom* over Aramis as he strokes Aramis's cock — 

"*Ahn* —" 

As he strokes it slowly and just a little *hard* — 

"Yes! Yes, please!" 

"Is this *close* to how you touch yourself, mon grand...?" And Jason moves his other hand closer to Aramis's throat, rests his thumb in Aramis's jugular notch — 

So beautiful — 

So very *beautiful* — 

"My — my Jason is thinking of my blood!" 

Jason laughs. "I most certainly am. That's for later. Answer my question now, my Aramis," he says, and strokes more slowly — 

"Nngh — *please*!" 

"Answer." 

"Ohn — I have tried to practice *many* techniques for pleasuring myself, my Jason..."

Jason hums and keeps stroking slowly. "I note that you used the word 'tried'." 

"I... I..." 

Jason laughs more. "Your body made its own demands, didn't it." 

"I — have control!" 

"You have *control* when you're winding one *pathetic* male or another round your little finger. When you are dreaming of a lover who can actually *please* you... well. Why don't you tell *me*." And Jason raises an eyebrow and squeezes just *so*. 

"*Hnh* —" 

"Oh, yes...?" 

"Oh, yes, please! I — I do this much!" 

"Very good," Jason says, and squeezes again — 

"*Yes* —" 

And again — 

"Oh, please —" 

And then he goes back to stroking.

"Please please —" 

"Tell me if you squeeze yourself *harder* than that, my Aramis..." 

Aramis moans and arches — 

Sweats — 

Spreads his *legs* —

"Oh, my Aramis, you are *perfect*. And I will make you even *better*." 

Aramis *grunts* — 

Stares up at him with wide, *full* eyes — 

And Jason grins. "Answer." 

"Yes — yes, my Jason. I — I squeeze myself *very* hard — sometimes. Most — most of the time I am only stroking quickly, and..." 

"Keep *going*." 

Aramis flushes. "I sometimes try to wait until I am very wet, very slick —" 

"Oh, yes...? Do tell..." 

"I... hold myself very tightly at those times, and work my cock *slowly*. I..." And now the flush is covering a *blush*. 

Jason grins. "You try to imagine the feel of a cunt, mon grand...?" 

"I..." 

"You must answer." 

Aramis shivers. "Yes, my Jason, but I do not need —" 

"I know I'm the only one you *need*, mon grand," Jason says, and licks his teeth. "We can discuss, in the future, what you may or may *not* actually *want*." 

"*Oh*." 

"The spheres are full of possibilities, my Aramis. One of the *constants* is that you will always be *mine* —" 

"Yes!" 

"And that means I must always, *always* provide for you," Jason says, and calls a shadow — 

Heats it —

And then sets it to *ripple* around Aramis's cock. 

Aramis's jaw drops as his eyes widen like a *child's*. 

"Yes...?" 

Aramis closes his mouth — 

Opens it as if to speak — a groan falls out, low for his voice and *heartfelt* as he breaks out in fresh sweat — 

As he writhes in *place* — 

As he shudders and *strains* — not to buck. 

Hm. "Why don't you fuck it, Aramis....?" 

"I — I — I do not want it, my Jason! Please, I want *your* touch!" And Aramis *forces* Jason to feel that, to *know* that — 

Jason growls and does *not* push the touch away — and *does* remove the shadow.

"*Thank* you, my Jason!" 

"You're *welcome*. But... I was *not* trying to hide myself from you, mon grand. Nor was I trying to pleasure you *instead* of pleasuring myself." 

"Oh. No?" 

Jason smiles wryly. "You'll grow accustomed to the shadow-magery, mon grand. It's a part of you now. And, when the shadows leave you, you will feel everything they feel — everywhere you *wish* to feel it. You will taste everything they taste, smell everything they smell..." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

"Ohh..." 

"Do you see?" 

"But did you wish to taste with a shadow rather than your own mouth in that *moment*, my Jason?" 

"I did, mon grand —" 

"But why?" 

"Because I have a *bit* more skill and dexterity with the shadows than I do with my own mouth —" 

"And you wished to show me your *art*? Instead of your *honest*, *unalloyed* pleasure?" 

Jason stares... rather like an idiot. 

Aramis raises a *pointed* eyebrow. 

Jason licks his *lips* — and grins. "Touché, mon grand. The point is entirely your own." 

Aramis inclines his head. "This is not to say, my Jason, that I did not *enjoy* the shadow. But..." 

"Another time...?" 

Aramis smiles sharply. "Another *time*. We will, perhaps, show each *other* our art." 

Jason inclines *his* head. "As you say, mon grand. Did you have any further thoughts as to what you would like now...?" 

"More *training*, my Jason. *Please*." 

Jason hums and leans in to kiss him again. That will always be yours, he says, and slips his tongue deep — 

"Mm!" (Shall I suckle?) 

Mon grand, there will be vanishingly *few* occasions when I put something into your mouth that I *don't* want you to suckle. 

Aramis giggles into his mouth — and then suckles and hums — 

Suckles and *nuzzles* and hums — 

Purrs and suckles and *arches* — 

Yes, Jason says, and cups Aramis's balls. Tell me about these. 

(Tell you *what*, my Jason...?) 

Naughty thing, Jason says, and squeezes *firmly* — 

Aramis *shouts* into Jason's mouth — 

Bucks and *whines* — 

(Please!) 

I will not loosen my grip until you give me much, much better answers, mon grand...

Aramis makes a *garbled* noise into Jason's mouth — 

The touch of his mind is chaotic and *exclamatory* — 

And, when Jason pulls back, his cock is jerking *beautifully*. 

Jason hums. "I'm waiting..." 

"I — I — please —" 

"You will answer, and you will do it now." 

"I cannot concentrate! I will not — I am not — coherent!" 

"You do not *have* to be," Jason says, and squeezes *harder* for a moment — 

Aramis *yells*, cock spattering his belly and chest *and* the duvet — 

Jason eases his grip just a little. "You do not *have* to be coherent," Jason says again. "All you must do is answer the question of how you treat your balls when you are pleasuring yourself." 

Aramis groans and *sweats* — 

Arches again — 

Drops and *yowls* as his cock spatters everything *again* — 

Jason growls as his own cock throbs and *drips* — "Mon grand. Do not make me wait." 

Aramis flushes all the way down his *chest* — "Please — please, I — squeeze!" 

"Like this?" 

"Not for so long! Not — not — I mean —" 

"You don't *hold* the squeeze?" 

"Yes! That is what I mean!" And Aramis's scents of relief rise... wonderfully. 

Jason hums. "Shall I ease *my* grip, mon grand...?" 

"I — I do not know!"

"The feelings will be... intense, as the blood rushes back. You will almost certainly writhe and scream." 

"Ohh..." And Aramis pants and pants. "Please — please, I must answer your — your question — I must answer *better* *first*." 

Jason *pants* — "Then do so." 

"I sometimes — I use my *nails*, my — please —" 

"Do you scratch?" 

"Yes — *sometimes*." 

"Do you use them while you are squeezing?" 

"Sometimes!" 

"Mm. Good boy," Jason says, and grins. 

Aramis beams at him, face flushed and shining with sweat. 

Jason leans in and licks his cheek — 

His chin — 

"Oh — please —" 

And then Jason licks his way into Aramis's mouth while *slowly* easing his grip on Aramis's balls — 

Kisses him *hard* — 

Aramis kisses him back beautifully, passionately, *hungrily* — until his lips begin to tremble. 

Jason smiles and kisses him harder — and *swallows* his *howl*. 

Pins him to the bed with nothing but his *body* and kisses him breathless, eats every howl, every scream, every *whine* — 

Smothers every *struggle* as the blood rushes back to Aramis's balls — 

As the scents of his pain *rise* — 

Aramis's cock is twitching and *spasming* — 

He kicks out — 

Jason *spreads* Aramis's legs with his own — 

Aramis *groans* into his mouth — 

And Jason will not tease any longer. 

He *bites* Aramis's lips *hard* — 

Aramis chokes and *gasps* — 

And Jason bites Aramis's chin, the beardless line of his jaw, his *throat* — 

"Ai! Yes! *Yes*!" 

Jason bites harder and *sucks* — 

"Oh, I love — I love —" 

You love being *bitten*, yes... 

"Please, yes! Please *more*!" 

Jason bites a path to Aramis's Adam's apple, then sucks again — 

Aramis moans and *purrs* — 

My Aramis... 

(Yes yes yes!) 

"Mmmm... "

And Jason bites his way down Aramis's chest, pausing at his nipples to lick and lick, to *suckle* — 

Aramis pants — 

Clutches at the *sheets* — 

Touch me, mon grand... 

"Please where!" 

Jason laughs against Aramis's chest and *nibbles* at his nipple — 

"UNH —" 

Would you rather clutch the sheets than clutch me...? 

"Oh — oh, my Jason wants —" 

*Badly*, Jason says, and bites a *little* harder — 

Aramis groans and pushes his hands into Jason's hair, tugging firmly and *gripping* — 

*Perfect*, Jason says, and bites again — 

"Nngh —" 

*Again* — 

"*Please*!" 

He sucks *hard*, and uses his calluses on the other nipple — 

Licks up to Aramis's collarbone and dips his tongue into Aramis's jugular notch for the sweat — 

"Please more, please more *bites*!" 

Jason *grins*. "*Good* boy," Jason says, and bites Aramis everywhere — 

*Everywhere*, from his cheek to his ear — 

From his shoulder to his elbow — 

"Oh, my *Jason* —" 

From his fingertips to his bellybutton to — but there's more sweat at his bellybutton. Jason bites harder and *slurps*. 

"*Ai* — yes! My — my —" 

I will not stop, Jason says, and bites a path down the feathery trail of hair leading to Aramis's jerking cock — 

"*Please*!" 

Jason *swallows* Aramis's cock and groans in his chest shamelessly for the flavours, for the sensations, for the way Aramis's hands are spasming in his *hair* — 

For the way Aramis is moaning and *shaking* — 

Shuddering and *straining* — 

Are you trying not to fuck me again, mon grand? 

"I — I..." 

Jason pulls back slowly, sucking *hard* until just the tip in his mouth. 

"Please! Please do not stop!" 

Jason takes him in halfway. 

Just that. 

And suckles *lightly*. 

"Unh — *unh* — my Jason, my — my — I will be *good*!" 

Then show me how much you *want* it, mon grand....

Aramis makes a high, sharp sound of *need* — 

Pushes in *shallowly* — 

*More*, my Aramis — or do you need my help...?

Aramis *grunts* — "Please train me!" 

Happily, Jason says, and *grips* Aramis's balls again — 

Aramis screams and *thrusts*, hard and *deep* — 

Perfect, *again*, Jason says, and *pumps* Aramis's balls — 

Aramis pulls out and fucks *in* — 

So deep — 

So — 

Jason groans around his mouthful and *squeezes* and — *Again*, my Aramis — 

Aramis sobs, shakes, *obeys* — 

*Good* boy, *again*, Jason says, and pumps Aramis's balls over and over and *over* again — 

And Aramis shudders all over, whimpers, sobs in Caló and French that he will obey, that he is owned, that he will always *obey* — 

Jason's cock is *painfully* hard, and he — 

Oh. 

Oh... 

Aramis is holding back. 

Aramis is waiting for *permission* to spend — 

"Y-yes, my Jason! I will wait! I will *wait*!" 

Jason growls *inside* and all of his shadows *converge* on the bed like the hungry predators they *are* — 

All of his shadows begin nosing and *nudging* at them — 

Nipping and *tasting* — and *Jason* can't wait, at all. He pumps Aramis's balls *faster*, more *roughly* — 

Aramis *screams* and bucks *raggedly* — 

And Jason sucks *hard* and *fucks* himself on Aramis's cock, *giving* them both a rhythm — 

*Demanding* a rhythm for them both — 

"*Please* —" 

Fuck me just. Like. *This*, Jason says, squeezing hard and swallowing Aramis *in*, *in*, *in* — 

Aramis howls and *obeys* — 

That's it... 

"Yes — y-yes —" 

Almost... 

"I — I will be good! I will —" 

*Now*, Jason says, and bares his *teeth* — 

Aramis yowls and fucks Jason *brutally* — 

*Spend*, my Aramis. Give me every *drop*. 

"NNGH —" 

You will not *ever* hold back from me — 

"I —"

*Spend*!

And Aramis wails and *slams* into Jason's mouth, slams in deep and hard —

And spurts, slick and hot and *delicious*. Still just a little sweeter than he will *undoubtedly* be once he has reached his full growth, but with a great *deal* of adult musk. 

Jason pulls back and wallows in every *spatter*, moving both hands into firm, gentle caresses of Aramis's beautiful and faintly golden skin. 

Aramis moans and pants through it — 

Yanks Jason's hair and moans *more* — 

Whimpers and whispers devotion in Caló — 

Jason smiles and suckles and pets *precisely* as much as he wants to. 

As *leisurely* as he wants to. 

Aramis doesn't soften so much as he stops *tensing* — and, eventually, he stops gripping Jason's hair like reins, as well. 

*That's* somewhat tragic... 

Aramis coughs a shocked laugh and sits up on his elbows — "My *Jason*!" 

Jason hums around his mouthful and pulls off. "And if your *mother* ever stopped gripping *your* hair, mon grand...?" 

Aramis blushes adorably. "I..." 

"Yes...?" 

Aramis bites his tongue and ducks his head. 

"*Really*." 

"My Jason... you were not angry when I grew aroused for Mother..." 

"She's your mother, and it was — and *is* — *very* clear that she has been *everything* to you. I am familiar with that sort of relationship, for all that Ser Darwyn and I did not use the *words*." 

"Not... ever?" 

"No," Jason says, and smiles. "Which isn't to say we didn't come very, very close. We both know that there is a great deal of latitude for paternal *sorts* of emotion in relationships between men in military professions, yes...?" 

"Oh — I have not seen —" 

"But you will, soon enough." 

Aramis blinks at him.

Jason grins and kneels up. "I mean to have you trained by *everyone* who can make you deadly, mon grand. By everyone who can help you learn how to keep yourself *safe*." 

"And this includes the *wolves*." 

"Oh, yes." 

"I... do you *wish* me to be a Musketeer? And not your *partner*?" 

"I wish you to be *everything* to me, mon grand —" 

"Oh — *yes* —"

"But... immortality tends to make one think in the *long* term." 

"What does this mean?"

"Wolves are *exceedingly* long-lived when they don't get themselves beheaded and burnt, mon grand. Sooner or later, the de Trévilles and the de la Fères are going to have to *remove* themselves from public view — short of *drastic* changes in how the people, the nobility, and the *Church* view lycanthropes, shifters, and *witches*." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis nods slowly. "This is when you will take *all* of us with you. You will build a larger, stronger pack with us and them *together*. You will bind us and we will fight the *other* wars." 

"Assuming *I'm* not making far too many assumptions with far too little solid information — which is always possible," Jason says, and smiles wryly. 

Aramis laughs and beams up at him with pride and *love*. "I do not think my Jason does *this* very often..." 

Jason hums again. "Perhaps not... but I've met very, *very* few people who were not susceptible to doing such things at least *sometimes*." 

Aramis nods thoughtfully. "I will remember this." 

"Good boy —"

"My Jason, you... when I spent..." 

"Yes, mon grand?"

"You were thinking that my flavours would change as I aged..." 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "I had assumed you were familiar —" 

"I *am*, my Jason! But... *you* do not age, or change. Or... do you?" 

Jason blinks — and regroups. "I do not age anymore, mon grand, but there *is* change. I apologize for not being clear immediately," he says, and cups Aramis's hands in his own. "I gained immortality when I was twenty, as you know. I had *nearly* reached my full adult growth, but I had *not* reached my full *potential* in terms of strength, flexibility, and all the little things that one can teach one's body to remember how to do with the facility of instinct." 

"Oh... *oh*. You have been able to make yourself stronger and better!" 

"Oh, yes. *And*, thankfully for my self-esteem, I did grow just a little bit taller before *that* was all said and done when I was twenty-five or so. You will grow, and change, and become, mon grand. I can *feel* that your immortality is the same as my own. It is *possible* that your scents and flavours won't change with the rest, but I doubt it."

"*Yes*, my Jason. Thank you!" 

"You're *welcome*." 

And Aramis touches Jason's mouth with his fingertips — 

Jason kisses them — 

"I..."

"Mm...?" 

"I do not mean to make you *wait*!" 

Jason kisses Aramis's fingertips again and tugs his hand away. "All is *well*, mon grand. Tell me what else is troubling you. Perhaps... something about your mother?"

"Not..." He frowns.

"Tell me." 

"You are so *easy* in yourself about me and Mother. You accept so *well*, so — so *gracefully* and *happily*!" 

"Of course —" 

"You *love* me, and you *welcome* Mother — you care for her, and I *know* you will love her! I feel this!"

Jason frowns. "Mon grand, do you feel... no, I'm not certain. What's wrong?" 

"My mother, my good mother, she said that *most* of my lovers would have *difficulty* with how close I was to her, and would wish me to place *distance* between myself and my mother." 

"I —" 

"In truth, she did not *have* to teach me this! I had seen it time and time again — and *heard* it from the men who would *complain* about their mistresses and wives and mothers all *fighting* with each other!" 

"Yes, and —" 

"But *you* have only fought with Mother to bring all of us closer together!" 

"Very true —" 

"Will you *always* do this?" 

Jason smiles and cups Aramis's face. "Always."

Aramis inhales sharply. "You mean this." 

"I do." 

"Please tell me why and then tell me — *show* me! — what *your* pleasure is. And do not say your pleasure is mine!" 

Jason laughs hard. "As you *say*, mon grand," Jason says, kneeling up and cupping Aramis's lovely face with both hands. 

"Yes? Tell me!" 

"I am *old*, mon grand. That is the *most* important reason." 

Aramis narrows his eyes. 

"It *is* —" 

"Tell me *more*!" 

Jason grins again. "You make everything inside me *sing* with life, my Aramis..." 

"Oh — I —" 

"And I am old *enough* to have *realized* that only *fools* try to come between their lovers and their lovers' dearly beloved *kin*." 

"But you have done more than not come *between* —" 

"So I have. I *like* your mother, and I like you, and I like the *relationship* the two of you have *built*." 

"Why doesn't it *threaten* you?" 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Why should it?" 

"I —" 

"Wait," Jason says, and pulls one hand back to hold up two fingers. "Even *should* you and your mother begin making love with one another, you will not be her mate, and she will not be yours. *All* that will be happening is that two people I care for *deeply* will be giving themselves to each other — and giving each other great pleasure and happiness, because they're *both* wise enough to avoid the vast majority of the pitfalls most lovers fall into sooner or later —" 

"But —" 

"*But* she cannot even give you a *child*, mon grand. All avenues to even my most *mean* and *pathetic* jealousies are utterly *blocked*. What's left? Is my need to make *certain* that my mate — my *only* mate — has everything he could possibly need," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"And I... I must — *you* must have what *you* need!"

"Oh, yes." 

"I could never — *nothing* would be *proper* if you did not have what you needed!" 

Jason smiles. "No, it would not, mon grand. And so I am confident, and secure, and desperately, madly *happy*."

"This is *well*," Aramis says, and *grips* Jason's cock — 

Jason *grunts* — 

"You will now tell your mate what he must do to please you," Aramis says, and raises *both* eyebrows *high*. 

Jason licks his lips. 

Looks down at the strong, graceful hand wrapped round his cock — 

*Considers*... 

"You should not make your *only* mate wait for you, my Jason." 

Jason grins helplessly and looks *up* — and raises his own eyebrow again. 

Aramis looks at him expectantly. 

"*If* I recall correctly, mon grand..." 

"Mm?" 

"*You* forced me — and Etrigan — to watch you sucking *another* man's cock before you so much as allowed yourself to be in the same *room* as my *own*." 

And Aramis blushes *deeply*... 

Jason raises his eyebrow *higher*. 

"I..." 

"Yes...?" 

Aramis licks his *lips* — "Perhaps..." 

"Do go on." 

"Perhaps... I could make amends?" And Aramis squeezes the base of Jason's cock *promisingly*. 

Jason growls. "And what *sort* of amends would you make...?" 

Aramis pants — and shows his tongue like a wolf. His eyes are as bright as new coins and so *happy*... 

"My Aramis..." 

"My *Jason*," Aramis says, and licks his lips *slowly* and *wetly* — 

Jason's cock jerks in Aramis's fist — 

"Mm. My Jason... you must punish your mate for doing *wrong*." 

Fuck... 

"You must show your mate the proper *ways*." 

"Aramis —" 

"I have *dreamed* of this, my Jason," Aramis says, and rubs the flat of his tongue against the *edges* of his teeth. 

"Oh. Yes?" 

"I have dreamed of a man, a *good* man, to train me in all the ways my good mother could *not*."

Jason stares — 

Thinks helplessly of Aramis masturbating himself in the bed he shared with his mother, masturbating himself and dreaming of — 

What, precisely? Jason looks *into* Aramis, and does not stop the hand on his cock. Show me. 

(Yes, my Jason...) 

And their soul-space is filled with Aramis's shouts and cries, Aramis's pleas and throatiest *moans*, as a man made of darkness and *strength* touches Aramis — 

*Moves* him — 

Spreads him and *strokes* him and *opens* him — 

Fucks him *senseless* in every position a flexible human boy can *achieve* — 

(In truth, I cannot achieve that position.) 

Oh — 

(Or that one.) 

All right — 

(My Jason will help me with my stretches.) 

I — 

But then Jason cannot speak, because the dark, faceless man has *restrained* Aramis, spread-eagle on his *belly* — 

The man is spanking him hard enough to make Aramis *wail* — 

The man is tugging Aramis's cock and balls out from under him and positively *torturing* them — 

The man is pushing a *massive* ivory phallus into Aramis's arse — 

Slowly and *relentlessly* — 

Aramis is clawing at the sheets and *kicking* while the phallus slips deeper and deeper and *deeper* — 

Jason licks his lips *needily* — 

And then the faceless man begins to *whip* the Aramis tied to the bed, and that is *precisely* all Jason can take. 

(Oh, yes...?) 

Jason banishes the fantasies and gestures the shadows into motion — 

"Oh! How — how did you —" 

"I'll teach you this at another *time*, mon grand," Jason says, and *watches* the shadows flatten Aramis to the bed on his belly — 

Watches them *spread* him, *tie* him — 

He *growls*. "The most important thing for you to learn is that there will be times when your spirit is not entirely available to you, and times when your *body* is not entirely available to you. You *will* learn to control and direct your magery with *both*." 

"Yes, my Teacher!" 

Jason growls *again* — "Did you feel my need for those fantasies, Aramis? Do you know, with all of yourself, that I am not *merely* giving you what *you* want?" 

"Yes! Your need was all through me!" 

"*Good*," Jason says, and *smacks* Aramis's arse — 

"*Ai*!" 

"*Always* touch my spirit when you are sharing fantasies. *Grip* it, if necessary." 

"Yes! *Yes*! Please —" 

"Here," Jason says, summoning oil from one of his pocket-spheres and *coating* his right hand before spreading Aramis's arse with his left — 

"*Oh* —" 

"The answer is yes," Jason says, and drags slick fingers up and down the tight skin of Aramis's cleft — 

"Please please —" 

Over and *over* the furl of his hole —

"Oh, my Jason, I need, I *need* —" 

"Tell me how *often* your mother allowed you to sell the use of your arse to men... as opposed to your myriad other charms." 

Aramis *moans*. "She did not! We argued about this very much —"

Jason *presses* on Aramis's hole — 

"Ai!" 

"Shh. She wanted you to wait for your mate." 

"*Yes*, my Jason. She kept saying my mate would be a man, and that I would want to be fresh for him, and I told her that she did not *know*, and she would give me such a *look* —" 

Jason *coughs* a laugh — 

And Aramis grins and *lifts* his arse the little distance the shadows allow. "My Jason... she did not stop me from using *toys*." 

"Oh, no...?" 

"No. She has always said that there is a difference between properly fresh and *stupidly* *unprepared*." 

Jason sighs with with helpless love. "Mon grand, should you *ever* find yourself desiring a second lover?"

"I —" 

"Please do recall that *any* individual who does not *immediately* appreciate your mother for the *jewel* she is? Is not *worth* you." 

Aramis purrs and *beams* — "My Jason is wise." 

"Your Jason has had a *bit* of time and education in the ways of the world. Now breathe deep," Jason says, and rubs Aramis's hole a little more — 

And a little more while Aramis breathes — 

And breathes — 

And — 

"There," Jason says, and pushes in with two fingers. 

Aramis clenches immediately and beams *again* — "Yes!"

"Oh, Aramis..." 

"Yours — yours — please!" 

"You're still a *bit* tight..." 

"My mate must do with that what he *wills*." 

Jason flushes and growls again — "You're absolutely correct," he says, and summons more oil while his fingers are *inside* Aramis — 

"UNH — what — what —" 

"You will be *slick*, mon grand..." 

"I — I am *wet*!" 

"Well... one mustn't take chances with the virginal," Jason says, and laughs a *little* meanly — 

"My *Jason* — NNH —" 

Jason holds the crook of his fingers for another few moments — 

"Please! *Please* —" 

— and then he starts *fucking* Aramis, slow and hard and as *viciously* as Aramis's man of shadows — 

Aramis gasps — 

Chokes on a *moan* — 

Clenches and *sobs* — 

"Oh, yes...?" 

"Please — I want..." 

"Tell me what you want, mon grand," Jason says, and doesn't change the rhythm of his thrusts. 

He gives Aramis his force — 

He gives Aramis the *hardness* of his *fingers* — and all of their calluses and moderately-excessive length. 

"Please, my Jason, it's so good, it's so —" 

"It's different from your toys..." 

"Yes! So warm, so good, so — there is nothing *uncomfortable* — It — I cannot think!" 

"You don't *have* to," Jason says, and fucks Aramis *faster* — 

Aramis groans and *sweats* — 

Shivers — 

"My — my — *please* — " 

"You don't have to think, at all, mon grand. You simply have to tell me what you *want*." 

"Your *cock*!" 

Jason pants — "Do you want it in your *arse*." 

"I want it everywhere! But please, please, do not — do not —" And Aramis groans and clenches and *flexes* open immediately — 

Groans again — 

Tries to lift his arse *high* — 

Jason spreads him *wider* — 

"*Yes*! Do this! Do this!" 

"And fuck your beautiful arse?" 

"Please, yes! But — I want — I want your fingers for a little longer. I am sorry!" 

"Shh. There's no rush, mon grand —" 

"Yes, there *is*!" 

Jason *coughs* — 

"I do not *wish* to be loose, the way you are *thinking*. I only — if you —"

"You want my cock to open you that last *little* bit...?" 

And Aramis smells relieved again, smells hungry, *feels* *thrilled* — 

"Oh, my Aramis..." 

"Please, *yes*!" 

"Tell me *when*," Jason says, and *twists* his fingers — 

"UNGH —" 

And pulls out most of the way —

"Please please — 

And *screws* his fingers in *deep* — 

Aramis clenches and *sobs* — 

"I can hardly wait to feel your beautiful arse *around* me, Aramis..." 

"Nuh — unh — I will *work* your cock, my Jason! I will be *good*!" 

"You will *take* my cock until I *tell* you to do something *else*." 

"*Fuck* —" 

"So you *do* curse..." 

"I..." 

"Let's see if I can get you to do it more *often*," Jason says, screwing his fingers in and *crooking* — 

Aramis flexes open and keens — 

— and Jason fucks Aramis with his fingers *pressed* to Aramis's pleasure-button — 

"Ahn!" 

Pressed *hard* — 

"AHN! Please —!" 

"Yes?" 

"My — my — *fuck*!" 

Jason laughs hard. "Do you like it...?" 

"Please — please, I think I will spend!" 

"No, you *won't*." 

Aramis *wails* and claws at the sheets — 

*Bites* at the sheets — 

Tries to lift his *arse* again — 

"My beautiful Aramis... keep *taking* this." 

And Aramis nods and nods — 

Tries to spread *wider* — 

His hole is *quivering* — 

"Open for me. Just a little more..." 

Aramis sobs and *flexes* open — 

"There, *good* boy," Jason says, and slips a third finger *deep* — 

Aramis tenses and *wails* again — 

The scents of his hunger and *slick* rise in a delicious and *maddening* wave — 

"Aramis, you —" 

Aramis *sobs* again — "Please fuck me! Please *fuck* me!" 

"Are you *ready*." 

"Please, I am so hot, I need it, I need *you*!" 

Jason growls *desperately* — and pauses to *breathe*. 

"*Please*!" 

"*Yes*, mon grand. It's time," Jason says, and slips his fingers out slowly and gently — 

Carefully — 

His Aramis is so *sleek* — 

So *perfect* — 

"I am *yours*! Please take me! Please *claim* —" 

"Shh, mon grand," Jason says, and grins as he sets his hand aflame to clean it. "You must allow me to keep... what's *left* of my control." 

"*No* —" 

"*Yes*," Jason says, and snarls. "Because you're *going* to get fucked hard, but you're *not* going to *bleed*. Not from there." 

Aramis grunts and blinks rapidly — 

Blushes and blinks more — 

"Yes, my Jason. I will behave." 

"Good boy. Brave and perfect —" Jason growls again — 

Again — 

Summons *copious* amounts of oil for his *cock* — 

Pants and *shudders* — 

"You must understand, mon grand: We have all the time in the spheres to experiment with every filthy desire we can name — and every one we *can't*. But we're *going* to be ready for them *first*." 

Aramis *moans* — "*Yes*, my Teacher." 

"My mate..." And Jason spreads Aramis's arse again — 

Stares at his *mildly* swollen hole — and does not wait. He pushes *in* with his cock — 

Deeper and deeper in one long *push* — 

"Ai! *Ai*!" 

*Opening* Aramis's arse that last little bit with his *cock* — 

"My — *I*!" 

"Oh, Aramis.... tell me," Jason says, and pants, and licks his lips, and *pants* — 

"So *hot*! So *big* in me and so hot, you are burning me and I — you are so — you feel — and you are so *deep* in me!" 

Jason groans and *sweats* — "More. Just — a little more," he says, and *covers* Aramis — 

*Shadows* him — 

"*Please*!" 

— and *grinds* in that last half-inch — 

"My *Jason*!" 

"*Mine*," Jason says, and pulls out — 

"Nuh —" 

And thrusts *deep* — 

"Please! Please hard, please *hard*!" 

Jason growls and *takes* his Aramis, one thrust after another after *another*, and Aramis begs for seemingly every one — 

Aramis pleads and sobs and —

And *clenches* — 

And Jason can't stop himself from biting the back of Aramis's neck *hard* — *Mine*. 

Aramis flexes open and *keens* — 

The scents of his shock and *stunned* hunger rise — 

Needy lust and *desperation* — 

I will not let you *go*, Jason says, and fucks Aramis *harder* — 

Aramis gasps and *wails* — 

He is *shaking* under Jason — 

The scents — he must be lying in a *puddle* of his own slick, and this — 

You needed just this... 

Aramis tries his best to *nod* — 

You needed to be fucked, and taken, and *claimed*. 

"Ple—" 

Jason breaks the *skin* with his bite — 

Aramis howls and clenches *tight* — 

Jason doesn't so much as *slow* his thrusts — but he *does* growl into the bite — 

Aramis whimpers and flexes open — 

Good *boy*. Take *this*, he says, and fucks him faster, *faster* as he licks, as he laps and *slurps* up every drop of blood — 

Every delicious — 

But he can feel them being bound even tighter, even more *powerfully*, even more *wildly* and *passionately* and *permanently* — 

(My — my *mate*!) And Aramis is *throwing* his power into the binding, every part of his *soul* — 

And Jason can only grin like the madman he is and do the same as he bites, as he suckles and sucks and *fucks* and *gives* — 

Gives *everything* — 

(My —) And Aramis *screams*, high and *sweet*, as what Jason can feel is the *last* cord binds them together — 

Binds them tight and close and — 

Forever. 

*Forever*, and Aramis is spurting as he screams, spurting without so much as a *stroke* — 

And Jason is not going to make it — 

Much — 

Longer — 

Aramis slumps against the sheets and *moans* — 

Slumps and — 

He's so pliant, so loose, so *soft* — 

Jason snarls and breaks the bite, gripping Aramis by the neck and shoulder — 

"Yes!" 

— and doing his level best to fuck his mate through the *mattress*. 

Aramis moans throatily and *smiles*, loose and happy, loose and sweet, so — 

So *sweet* — 

Jason snarls and *spasms* for it, bucks, loses — 

But there's no rhythm to this, no — 

Barely any *control* — 

"My *Jason*...." And Aramis is *purring*, eyes slipping half-closed as Jason fucks him *up* the bed toward the *wall* — 

"I — my *Aramis*." 

Aramis *giggles* — 

Jason *slams* in — "*Clench*!" 

"*Yes*, my Jason," Aramis says, and obeys — 

And obeys in a rapid, *vicious* rhythm that Jason can't *approach* with his rough, brutal thrusts — 

It's so — 

So tight and sweet and hot and *his* — 

Somehow *his* — 

"*All* yours!" 

Jason *snarls* and bites Aramis *again* — 

And this time he can taste *himself* in Aramis's blood — 

Taste their *kinship* — 

Jason bites harder and *spurts*, spasming and jerking and thrusting, he can't stop *thrusting*, he has to — 

His Aramis must always *feel* him — 

Aramis purrs. "My mate... I will never feel *anything* the way I feel *you*." 

Jason spurts *again* — 

Aramis clenches hard — 

"Unh —" 

Aramis flexes open for a *moment* and then clenches hard *again* — 

And Jason can't stop fucking him for another stretch of long moments. 

Aramis doesn't stop purring for even longer. 

Not until after Jason loses *all* aplomb and *slumps* on top of him — 

And stays there — 

For a bit — 

"My Jason." 

"Yes...?" 

"Do I still need to breathe, even though I am immortal?" 

"Well... yes?" 

"Then I will need you to move *slightly*." 

Jason hums, recalls the shadows that had been tying Aramis, and rolls them onto their sides, not incidentally so he can get a *look* at that wet spot... 

Impressive... 

Aramis blushes. 

Jason kisses him everywhere he can reach. "My beautiful Aramis. How do you feel?" 

Aramis sighs. "I believe I am healing too fast for my own tastes, my Jason." 

"Mm. I know the feeling *well*. I *promise* the benefits outweigh the negatives in the long run. And..." Jason traces the dark bite-scar on the back of Aramis's neck. 

"Oh! I did not heal perfectly from your *bite*?" 

Jason grins. "No, you did *not*. Mating scars tend to *last*, no matter what sort of magery they're up against. You will be *marked* for all time." 

Aramis begins purring again. 

This time, he doesn't stop until he falls asleep.


	14. Family works better when you leave room for mutual love *and* respect.

Jason had left the walls down between himself, Etrigan, and Amis before leaving them to make love to Aramis, and so he isn't alerted to their desire for his attention by a touch or a *look* so much as by... 

A desire for his attention. 

That's *novel*. 

Novel enough to let him *stop* petting his sleeping mate for a few moments — 

Even his *snores* sound like purrs, and if he was trained to do that, Jason isn't sure he wants to know *how* — 

_Liar._

I. 

_You want to know every possible thing about your mate, Jason._

I might have retained *some* measure of my dignity, Etrigan — 

_Mating is the demesne of the All-Mother, and the All-Mother believes *dignity* should be shat upon whenever feasible._

Jason suspects he looks pained.

And, considering the fact that Amis is laughing...

_Yes, your suspicions were correct._

Jason sighs and turns to Amis. My son, *never* doubt how much pleasure it gives me to hear you laugh your *arse* off at me. 

Amis smiles, showing teeth which are still quite sharp — though rather more reminiscent of a cat's than of some undersea nightmare's. **You've always been very clear with your lovers and friends about wanting their happiness, Father. Every possible moment of their happiness.**

Jason grins. I suppose I have been. 

_Yes, do be proud of yourself for that, Jason. Your communication skills are often abysmal._

*Arse* — 

Amis laughs more — 

And Jason cups Amis's shoulder and Etrigan's hand and squeezes. But are you both well? 

Amis nods — 

_We are. I'm mostly here to let you know that Mother contacted me about the pack._

Jason *blinks* — but. Amina — or one of the others — asked her for a boon? 

Etrigan nods. _Amina de Tréville is, apparently, impatient for your return. Mother informed me that we should take that to mean that the *pack* is impatient for your return._

And when you asked her what sort of impatience it was...? 

_And whether it was violent...?_ Etrigan rumbles a laugh. She was amused. And uncommunicative, of course. 

Jason growls. Drooling madmen. Amis, always remember that the gods will, at best, find you *amusing*. 

**Yes, Father.**

_This can be, on the whole, a very warm thing, Amis._

**Yes, Father,** Amis says, and *smiles* again. 

Jason scowls. Right, *you're* going to have control of this body soon, Etrigan, and then I'm going to teach Amis about *all* the gods we've met over the past six centuries. 

Etrigan pats Amis. _Try to forgive him, my son. He becomes fixated easily._

Amis nods. 

*Arse* — 

_I believe Aramis is waking up...?_

Fuck — 

And Amis and Etrigan are *laughing* at him, but — 

But he needs *this* sight, this — 

Aramis waking up, and stretching, and rolling *toward* him, and *smiling* — 

And — Hecate's cunt, if he purrs *every* time he wakes up — 

(I will purr every time I wake up to the feel of you so *excited* to be *with* me, my Jason...) 

Jason grins. "I believe I can *just* manage that... if I work at it..."

Aramis raises a *pointed* eyebrow. 

With his hair mussed and a crease on his cheek from the sheets, it's entirely adorable.

"My *Jason*." 

Jason kisses the crease, and then Aramis's pursed lips. "You have my apologies, of course. I always get a bit *frisky* when I'm deliriously happy." 

Aramis's gaze softens immediately — 

His eyes fill with *wonder* — 

He reaches up to stroke Jason's face with his fingertips — 

And Jason smiles down at him. "My beautiful Aramis." 

Aramis blushes and grins. "My beautiful *Jason*. What were you talking about with Etrigan and Amis? I was still too asleep to be certain." 

"Mm." Jason kisses Aramis's palms. "The All-Mother informed Etrigan that the *pack* would like us to join them at our *earliest* convenience." 

"I." 

"Yes, they *did* use the *goddess* as a messenger." 

"I..." Aramis frowns. 

Jason laughs. "It's not that the goddess *wouldn't* do that for any of her children whom she *could* do it for... but. We would be quite foolish if we did not proceed as if there were... undercurrents," he says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"*She* wants us to be one with the pack, my Jason?" 

"Oh, yes. I daresay she'll become forceful about it if she doesn't get her way." 

Aramis looks *horrified* — 

As well he *should* — 

And then *Etrigan* reaches for Aramis. 

(Oh! Yes, Etrigan?) 

_Forgive me for interrupting._

(No, all is well, please tell me what you wish!) 

_Only this: The All-Mother also requested the pleasure of *your* company in particular —_

(I!) 

She did *what* — 

_She truly is quite interested in —_

Etrigan, why the bloody hell didn't you *tell* me — 

_The message was not for you, Jason._

You *arse* —

**To be quite fair, Father... you do spend a *large* amount of time speaking ill of his mother, and his mother's spiritual brethren.**

Jason stares. 

_I try not to hold it against him, my son._

**I've noticed this.**

_He's had many bad experiences with gods over the years._

So have you!

_How many of those experiences, my friend, did we seek *out*?_

Jason rears *back* — 

And Aramis is there, wrapped around him, warm and strong and so, so loving. 

Aramis — 

(My mate's enemies are *my* enemies.) 

Jason grunts — and breathes, because he does not *wish* to teach the *wrong* lessons. 

He never wishes that. 

He strokes Aramis's spirit with his power. I would like, mon grand, for my loved ones to be yours, as well. 

Aramis pushes closer still — 

Strokes Jason all through himself — 

And Jason breathes and sighs. I promise to remember that my loved ones *are* my loved ones. 

Aramis nods decisively and pulls back. 

Jason caresses him one last time, and then clasps Etrigan's hand. You have my apologies, old friend. *Brother*. 

This time, *Etrigan* rears back — 

And Jason does nothing to hide his wince. Should I apologize for that, as well?

_I... will need time to grow accustomed to you *speaking* and *acting on* the things you feel, and hold deeply in your soul, my friend. My brother._

Jason blinks — and feels his entire *being* heating with embarrassment. But...

But he is anything but ashamed by the changes in him. 

He is anything but *regretful*. Etrigan... you have spent too much time forced to live with someone you only *knew* cared about you, and who gave you no proof of it.

Etrigan raises his brow-ridge. _Do we truly need to be demonstrative with each other?_

Jason *grips* Etrigan's hand. Would we have spent so much time *lonely* if we had been — whether or not we spent that time alone?

Etrigan shows his teeth — but only for a moment before he engulfs Jason in his flames. 

(I.) 

Jason shivers. Thank you. Thank you — so very much for this, he says, slicing open his forearm and lifting it to Etrigan's mouth. 

_Don't — don't thank —_ And Etrigan growls desperately and *drinks* — 

And Jason feels himself taken, flooded with Etrigan's power and age and thoughtfulness and wisdom and — helpless love. 

Helpless love and *affection* for everything Jason *is*. Everything Jason likes even a *little* about himself is raised to an absolute shining *virtue* — and every last one of his flaws is cherished and sighed over. 

It's. 

It's *ridiculous* — 

_I feel rather the same about how you feel about *me* —_

How I feel about you is perfectly rational!

_You wouldn't be able to manage rationality without first exhausting every other option *possible* for cognition —_

You're a *ponce*!

_You *like* that about me!_

I — wait. 

_Yes, I. Hm._

Jason peers over at Aramis and Amis...

Etrigan does the same — 

From inside the spirit-flames, their irritated and *nonplussed* expressions are rather ominous and *dramatic*, at once. 

_It's a good effect, isn't it?_

Yes, quite. I always forget when I'm not on fire, myself.

_You should do it more often._

Agreed.

And then Aramis crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his beautiful eyes and oh, dear. 

Jason licks his lips. I... apologize? No, I most *assuredly* apologize. To *everyone* in this soul. 

(For *which* thing, my Jason?) 

For... I... for being an idiot, Jason says, and nods once. 

Aramis *looks* at him. 

Amis *obviously* studies Aramis for *cues* — 

That could be *dangerous* — 

And then Aramis smiles, small and lovely and wicked and *sharp* — 

And Amis grins *ferociously* — 

And Jason sighs in pure relieved pleasure. 

He knows, now — with all of himself — just how much Etrigan enjoys that sort of thing.


	15. When's the last time you called your MOTHER?

Jason teaches Aramis how to use the shadows to wash himself — and then *gleefully* uses the shadows to help him wash those hard to *reach* areas — 

And then they get dirty again — 

And then Aramis demands the right to use the shadows to wash *him*, which is... 

Well. 

Jason finds himself desperately regretting how good a student Aramis is, because *that* goes far too quickly for his tastes. 

Far, *far* — 

And the positively *evil* smile on Aramis's face says he knows *exactly* what Jason is thinking. 

"Wicked little *changeling*," Jason says, and summons the clothing of a wealthy — if not especially fashionable — merchant for the shadows to dress him in. 

Aramis laughs brightly and wreathes himself in shadows only *somewhat* awkwardly. 

The one around his lower right leg does try to remove his *hair*, though. That won't do — "Aramis —" 

"I — hm. I said I wanted them to *cling* to me..." Aramis concentrates obviously — 

The shadow stops trying to *pluck* him — 

Aramis nods once. 

"Very good," Jason says, and gestures to Aramis's clothes from... well, from *yesterday* — 

Claudette will *not* be best pleased — 

"She *expected* this, my Jason," Aramis says, and sends the shadows away with the same gesture Claudette uses to dismiss *clients* — 

The shadows almost seem to *slump* as they leave him — 

Jason hums. "I *believe* you, mon grand. I still do *enjoy* being well-behaved. Most of the time." 

Aramis *looks* at him as he dresses the *conventional* way. 

"Sometimes...?" 

Aramis continues looking at him. 

"From time to time." 

"Mm." Aramis turns back to his clothes. 

Jason laughs and leans against the wall. "Tell me what method you used to stop the shadow from *plucking* you." 

"I told it that I *liked* my hair, that my hair was *not* dirt to be washed away, and that I would *tell* it if that changed." 

"Very good," Jason says, and grins. "Though don't be surprised if that particular clutch of shadows is now *forever* incapable of removing hairs from anything, anywhere, at any time." 

Aramis pauses. "I." 

"You used just a *trifle* too much force, mon grand." 

"I was... touching the shadows while *also* using my will. This was my mistake?" 

"Not quite — sometimes you'll *have* to do that. But you were using a rather *intense* amount of will to direct the shadows once I stopped working *with* you."

"*Oh* — I didn't want —" And Aramis cuts himself off and blushes. 

And licks his lips — 

And smiles ruefully. "I did not want to make a *mistake* in front of my *Teacher*," he says. 

Jason smiles and moves close again, stroking Aramis's cheek. "Better to make a mistake — while using all of the admirable deftness you've learned to use with your spirit-magery — than to batter your way through a problem." 

"*Yes*, my Teacher. I... this is always so?" 

"There are times when you will *have* to batter your problems to submission, but, even then, you will almost certainly want to exhaust finesse *first*." 

Aramis nods. "I will learn this lesson," he says *firmly*, and finishes dressing himself. 

Once he's done, Jason uses *his* shadows to clean the bedding — 

"This is a very useful skill!" 

Jason grins. "It took an embarrassingly long time for me to even *try* to use the shadows this way, but thank you," he says, and opens a portal to Madame Margaud's. 

"Oh — oh, I can feel Mother on the other *side*!" And Aramis starts for the portal *immediately* — 

Jason stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "Remember to focus on *nothing*, mon grand. Your new shadow-magery will protect you, to a certain extent, but your *spirit*-magery makes you a *vast* temptation to many of the beings who live in the between-spaces." 

"I — yes, my Jason. I will let *you* go first, and will only focus on your back." 

Jason squeezes his shoulder. "Thank you, mon grand," he says, and straps a bastard sword to his back, just in case all the magery they've expended in the past hour makes them *especially* tempting. 

"Oh — *why* do you prefer such a long blade? Wouldn't a shield or a second weapon be more practical?" 

Jason grins *again* and steps into the portal. "You'd think so, and, in many cases, you'd be entirely correct. In those cases, I switch weapons at *speed* — my armoury is *vast* and *always* at my disposal." 

"Oh!"

"However, I'd long since grown accustomed to using longswords — though, to be fair, I did not spend my *first* decades using ones *this* long — and *several* of the fighting styles I've developed are best-suited to longswords. I have other fighting styles, of course, and it will *always* be prudent to develop a facility with as many different ways to cause harm as *possible*," Jason says, and steps out into Claudette's office — 

She stands and raises an eyebrow — 

Aramis steps through behind him and beams at her, running up and embracing her — not like a child. 

Not like a child, at all... for all that he kisses only the *corner* of her mouth. 

Claudette hums and kisses the corner of *Aramis's* mouth before wrapping her arms around *him* — 

They hold each other *tightly* — 

Jason grins — 

And Claudette hums and beckons Jason close with her finger.

Jason is wise enough — and *warm* enough — now, that he feels no need to ask if she is certain. He joins the embrace, breathing in their wonderful scents — 

Sharing in their *kinship* — 

Their warmth. 

Jason kisses Claudette's cheek, and Aramis's temple. 

He holds them. 

When they do, eventually, separate, Claudette raises an eyebrow again. "You were in the middle of a lesson, I believe?" 

Jason smiles. "I was, indeed," he says, and turns to Aramis again. "It's *prudent* to learn how to wreak havoc with versatility and skill... but it's far *more* prudent to, when you are *about* to wreak havoc, be certain that you are prepared to do so in the manner in which you have the *most* skill." 

Aramis nods once. "*Yes*, my Teacher. I will not be reckless!" 

"*Excellent*," Jason says, and looks to Claudette. "Now, Aramis is of the opinion that this isn't necessary, but I feel I *must* apologize —" 

"My *Jason* —" 

"— for not *informing* you that I would be keeping Aramis overnight." 

"Oh. I will allow this," Aramis says. 

Claudette hums and sits on her desk, crossing her legs beneath her skirts and curling her fingers around the front of the desk. "Did you think my *Aramis* would not inform me of just this...?" 

"I... hm. When...?" 

"When you undressed him before beginning the *conversation* with Etrigan and your *son*." 

Jason licks his lips. 

Claudette smiles sharply. "*Somehow* my tricky boy could tell that you had many, *many* plans for him." 

"Well... you *have* raised him to be an entirely superior young man, Claudette." 

"So I have," she says, and her eyes are sparkling. "He told me, while you were resting, that you plan to buy the building where you are currently staying...?" 

"Yes. The neighbourhood is, I believe, *adequate* for all of our needs while I look for something better —" 

"And you already had a fair amount of tasteful art and furnishings..." 

Jason smiles wryly. "I lost quite literally *everything* at a young age, Claudette. That sort of thing... well." 

She nods once. "You save everything you can, now that you have the ability *to* save things." 

"Just so. It's almost certainly a weakness — and one which one enemy or another *will* exploit long before I am dust — but... it has been warmth in the cold. And very, very useful on more than one occasion." 

She narrows her eyes in an acquisitively feline smile. "Thank you for telling me this." 

"You're quite welcome. I look forward to us learning as much as we possibly can about one another."

Claudette... purrs. 

Jason smiles and raises an eyebrow. 

"I'm happy, Jason. You have pleasured my son *senseless*, and offered him no harm while you were doing so. And then? You brought him home to *me*." 

"If I may..." 

"Yes, Jason?" 

Jason lets his gaze take in *both* Claudette and Aramis, who has seated himself in one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Was Aramis... sharing?" 

Claudette's smile, if anything, grows even more feline. Though this smile is rather reminiscent of a cat with a small, overweight, and *wounded* bird rapidly tiring between her paws. 

Aramis hums. 

Claudette licks her — human enough; Jason checks — teeth. 

"Shall I take that as a yes...?" 

Claudette *and* Aramis incline their heads. 

Together. 

Jason laughs hard — and bows. "It was *entirely* my pleasure, I assure you *both*. Though..." 

"Yes, my mate?" 

And Claudette raises an *eyebrow* again — 

Jason snorts. "You might have *told* me, Aramis —" 

"Oh, no, no," Aramis says. "You would have been much too stiff, much too proper and well-behaved." 

"You truly would have been," Claudette says.

"I. Hm." 

"Which is why my tricky boy will not tell you *any* of the times he invites me to... partake." 

"But —" 

"Nor will my mother, my good mother, tell *either* of us when she she decides to join us *unannounced*," Aramis says. 

Jason stares — 

Considers — 

Considers what he has gotten himself *into* — 

And then, because he's grinning like an idiot again — 

"That sounds perfectly wonderful to me. Shall we discuss the wolves?" 

"Yes, Jason? You've had further thoughts?"

"I have, but, more to the point, Amina de Tréville has asked the All-Mother for a boon. To that end, the All-Mother contacted Etrigan, and informed him in no uncertain terms that the pack was impatient to see *all* of us. Which..." And he raises his own eyebrow. 

Claudette blinks. "I am to believe the *goddess* has taken an interest in who we socialize with?" 

"A rather deep-seated one, if my — and Etrigan's — instincts are correct." 

"And you're quite certain the goddess is not responding to your — and Etrigan's — *desire* for all of us to be attached to this pack?" 

"I *would* consider that — the goddess is anything *but* above making presents to her children of *matchmaking*, no matter how strenuously her children try to *avoid* it —" 

"But...?" 

"The goddess has *also* requested time with Aramis, Claudette. For *herself*." 

Claudette blanches — and goes still. 

Aramis goes to her immediately, hugging her tightly — 

Claudette *yanks* his hair — 

Jason nods once. "I will not say that you have nothing to fear. That would go against everything I *am*. But... I *must* say that the All-Mother has never harmed anyone I cared for. Not so much as a single hair on their *heads*." 

"No?"

"She is vast. She is incalculably powerful. Humanity — and the offshoots *of* humanity — are some of her very *youngest* and *smallest* and *weakest* children — most of us cannot even be *perceived* by her unless and until our souls return to her when we *die*. Just the same, she is the All-*Mother*, and she loves her children, and she loves her children *well*. I do not believe she will bring pain to any of us — and I *do* believe that she would be *overjoyed* if we *all* went to visit her *together*." 

Claudette inhales. "Have you done this before? With other loved ones? Students?" 

"I have, twice. They were both earth-mages who wished to bind themselves to me more permanently than is usually possible for earth-mages, who are cleansed of all corruption *every* time they commune with their Mother. The first time, the All-Mother wanted to know who exactly I *was*, and what I was *about*, and whether or not I was a good *prospect* for her beloved earth-mage. She advised me to be more open, and sent us on our way with her blessing." 

"And the second time? Was it the same?"

Jason smiles ruefully. "No. She simply wanted to scold me for not *visiting*, and ask me how I was *doing*, and whether I'd found anything interesting to *study*."

Claudette blinks. 

Aramis stares. 

"So, *truly*, I had *planned* to stop in and make my *apologies* —" 

"We're leaving now," Claudette says, and stands up off the desk. 

"I..." 

They glare at him. 

"Hm. As you say," Jason says, and inclines his head. Etrigan, if you have a moment...?

_For this? I have *centuries*._

*Arse*. 

_You love me for it. Now, if you would take their hands...?_

Jason mutters under his breath and does just that — 

Etrigan opens *them* to the All-Mother — 

Jason feels an *overwhelming* sense of *welcome* and *joy* and *love* which he does *not* recoil from — 

Much — 

Etrigan is *laughing* at him — 

And then they're in a warm, green-lit hollow within the earth, and Etrigan and Amis are watching events *avidly* from within Jason, and Claudette and Aramis are sitting up and looking around with both curiosity and wariness. 

The All-Mother is being gentle with them — she has banked her initial *flood* of welcome — and the sense of her is rising... slowly. 

"I..." Claudette frowns. "I feel..." 

"I feel as if you are holding me, my Mother, only... all *over*, somehow." 

Claudette nods slowly. "My own mother... could sometimes make me feel things *like* this, when I was very small. This is, I presume, the goddess?" 

"Yes," Jason says. "She's giving you both time to grow accustomed to her." 

"Oh... but..." Aramis frowns. "My Mother...?"

Claudette searches Aramis — and nods. "We do not need time." 

"Oh dear — wait —" 

But the flood of the All-Mother returns instantly, heavily, *wildly* — 

She *fills* them with her joy and adoration the way she would fill an earth-mage with energy and *power* — 

And, to be fair, joy and adoration.

They're all on their backs, writhing and groaning and, by the scents, *deeply* aroused. Jason fights for control because that's what he *does* — 

He can feel Claudette doing the same *thing* — 

He can feel Aramis getting harder and harder and — 

And neither he nor Claudette can fight, at all. It's too powerful, too much, too *beautiful* — 

Aramis is groaning — 

Aramis is sobbing out cries, sobbing out 'yes', over and *over* again as the All-Mother *has* him — 

Jason can *feel* it — 

And then he can feel the All-Mother on him, around him, *in* him. He can't breathe for all the green, all the tang, all the *power* — 

He can't do anything but *fuck* into the wild, slick *heat* of it all while Aramis *wails* — 

And Claudette *screams* and beats at the *earth* — 

Their scents are so *high* — 

*His* scents are no — 

No better — 

They are *together* — and the knowledge fills him that the All-Mother wants it just that way, the All-Mother needs it, needs them, needs all of them, has *always* needed them — 

She's been so lonely — 

So *hungry* — 

Jason's stomach drops and he *shouts* — 

The *vine* in his arse shoves *deeper* — 

Thickens and *pulses* — 

Aramis *keens* — and the scents of his spend fill the hot, close air — 

And Jason fucks up into tighter heat, tighter slickness, needs, *needs* — 

And Claudette's low, *starved* grunts are in just that *rhythm* — 

The All-Mother is fucking her in just that — 

Jason grunts low and fucks harder, *faster* — 

Claudette cries out so — 

So — 

Jason blushes and *spasms* in the All-Mother's *grip* — 

And then Claudette's cries are muffled, muffled — into a kiss. 

Jason looks — 

And Aramis is cupping Claudette's face and kissing her hard, deeply, almost *violently* — 

Claudette is flushed and sobbing into it — 

And Aramis strokes down and down Claudette's body with his other hand, down and *down* — 

He *yanks* up her skirts — 

And Jason grunts and spurts, helpless as a *boy* — 

Claudette stiffens — 

And the All-Mother *tightens* around Jason — 

*Ripples* around Jason — 

Flexes and *clenches* around Jason, ragged and rough and wild as — 

As Claudette spends. 

As Aramis makes *love* to her *mouth* — 

And, by the sounds, toys with her cunt with some degree of skill. 

Jason spurts — copiously. 

For quite some time. 

*Eventually*, he collapses on his back, and stares up at absolutely nothing while the All-Mother continues to work his cock. 

While Claudette continues to feel... aftershocks. 

While Aramis continues to coax her through them. 

This — 

Jason stares at nothing for a *little* bit longer — 

And then he turns over just in time to see Aramis kissing Claudette *softly* and pulling back.

She looks just as dazed as Jason feels, which makes Jason feel somewhat better about himself, right up until Aramis crawls over on *top* of Jason — and shoves his sticky fingers into Jason's mouth. 

"*Mm*." 

Aramis raises an eyebrow. 

The comment — the pointed, *pointed* comment — is clear. 

Jason has an extremely limited amount of room to demur, and even less *reason* to — given everything Jason has *said* to Aramis about his mother and all of their relationships, silently and not. 

Aramis nods once, and looks at him expectantly. 

Jason inclines his head, acknowledging the point, and suckles just as hungrily as he wishes to. 

Aramis starts panting *quickly* — and rolls off Jason, taking his fingers back and sucking and suckling them himself. He lies between them comfortably. 

*Serenely* — 

Jason checks on Claudette — 

She is smiling at Aramis wryly. And then she turns the smile on him. "I stopped allowing Aramis to so much as be on the same *floor* as I was when I was having sex when he was a *young* boy." 

Jason blinks — and nods. "You... had your suspicions about what could happen." 

"I had my *knowledge* of what we would *both* one day be *capable* of," she says, and laughs low and throaty. "I *still* did not expect his *speed*." 

Aramis pulls his fingers out with a somehow-*affronted* slurp. "My *Mother*."

"I know, tricky boy. You will always be... quick," she says, and licks her lips. 

That — *finally* — makes Aramis blush. 

Claudette laughs more — and Jason finds that he can laugh, as well.

Into her eyes. 

After a time, knowledge fills them — *all* of them, at once: The All-Mother has been waiting for this moment. Specifically, the moment when She could see — and feel, and perceive in every other way — Jason properly mated, and properly surrounded by family.

Claudette blinks. "Had... you planned to give him my son yourself, All-Mother?" 

The knowledge comes to all of them: The All-Mother had considered several children, on several spheres, and has had some measure of success in bringing Jason together with those children.

Aramis grunts and *grips* Jason's hand — 

Jason grips back — 

The knowledge comes: True mating did not happen, most of the time, even when the children were properly suited to Jason. The children and Jason remain together, and bind themselves tightly, but cannot mate, because the Jasons on those spheres remain cursed too powerfully. 

"Oh... oh, no!" 

Jason nods slowly. "Too much of those other Jasons' power is under lock and key. The *Jasons* can reach it, and use it, but they can never share it with anyone else. They can never give themselves *entirely* to anyone else, and so they cannot complete the mating. Is that accurate?" 

The knowledge comes: Yes. It hadn't occurred to the All-Mother to use a spirit-mage to awaken Jason's and Etrigan's son... who would in turn free their power.

Jason shivers — 

Tries to *think* — 

"All-Mother..." And Aramis's voice is low, soft, *diffident* — 

*Both* he and Claudette are reaching for him — 

Aramis pushes them *away* — 

"Tricky *boy* —" 

"All-Mother, who *are* the others Jason could be mated to? Are they... are they in the pack? Would my Jason be very *happy* with them?" 

"Mon grand, *no* —" 

The knowledge comes: Jason would not be happier with them than he is with Aramis. He would not be more full, more satisfied, more *loved* with them than he is with Aramis. But he could have Aramis *and* them. 

"I do not *want* —" 

The knowledge comes: When She can, the All-Mother brings Aramis and Claudette to the pack whether or not Jason is there, though he usually is. Because there are mates there for them, as well — if they will take them. 

Jason grunts — 

Claudette narrows her eyes. "All-Mother... are you saying that my spell was not accurate?" 

The knowledge comes: Aramis will always be *one* of Her choices for Jason, and Jason will always be one of Her choices for Aramis. However, She has always felt that Her pack-building children have done things more properly than most. 

Aramis frowns. "Will you *force* me to take more than one mate?" 

And Etrigan *looks* at Jason, but — no. No. He cannot let his mate — his family — think the wrong things. Jason scrubs a hand down over his face. "She will not, mon grand. She will not force *any* of us to mate with any of them — especially since none of us are *fertile* anymore." 

The knowledge comes: She is regretful about this. 

Jason barks a hysterical laugh. "She will not *force* any of us, but... should we *meet* with them — or even share *space* with any of them, at any time, on any *sphere* —" 

"We will wish to mate with them," Claudette says, and nods slowly. "Choice will become... laughable." 

"Yes."

Aramis growls —

"Mon grand, I'm sorry —"

"You have only just claimed me! I do not wish to *lose* you!" 

"You never *will*!"

"You don't *know* this. Your — your *wolf*-mate could be tall, and handsome, and very *droll*, very funny, with just the *right* amount of *pride* —" 

Jason kisses Aramis hard, kisses him down to the *ground*, biting his lips and growling and shoving his tongue *deep* — 

Tasting *Claudette* — 

And tasting his mark. 

Fuck, fuck — I'll never *leave* you!

Aramis *whimpers* — 

The knowledge comes with a *grip* on their souls: They are mated, now and forever. Only a god could separate them, and any good who attempted to do so would have to answer to Her.

Aramis grunts, cock jerking against Jason — 

Jason *pants* into Aramis's mouth — "Make that a *promise*. *Please*." 

**THIS I VOW.**

Jason collapses on Aramis while ejaculating *violently* — 

Aramis *convulses* beneath him and *drools* — 

And Jason can see, in his peripheral vision, that Claudette has just lost consciousness. 

And really, that seems like an excellent — 

Idea — 

Black.


	16. Special delivery!

_You're almost certainly going to want to wake up now,_ Etrigan says.

I'm asleep *again*?

_Mother was insistent._

Osiris's missing *cock* — wait. *Wait*. I remember that conversation — 

_Yes? Good._

Where did your mother *put* us all when she kicked us *out*? 

_Well, that's why you're going to want to wake up. And open your eyes._

What — 

"You're feigning sleep," says a man with a gruff tenor voice with a *violent* growl under it. "I don't like that." 

*Shit*. Jason *opens* his eyes — and looks up into pale blue ones narrowed in aggression. The man's age is difficult to be certain of — the face is somewhat lined, but the hair and beard are entirely brown, and he holds himself with all the strength and vigor a werewolf *should* have. His nose is aquiline, and his mouth is... 

Is...

His hair is mussed — 

Jason stops staring. This, by the descriptions, is Jean-Armand du Peyrer de Tréville. 

And Jason is on the floor at his feet. 

And — hm. "We're in Paris...? And forgive me for feigning; our visit with the All-Mother was somewhat fraught, and I was rather catching up to myself." 

de Tréville flares his nostrils — and nods. "That was honest." 

"It was —"

"Continue being honest with me." 

"I will —" 

"Why *exactly* do you smell like —" And de Tréville bares his teeth — 

Shakes himself — 

"No. First: We're in Paris, in my rooms. Your mate and his mother are being looked after by my Amina-love while my brothers Kitos and Reynard pace outside *their* door, because the mother — what's her name...? Smells like every best thing in the world to them." 

"Oh. I... fuck." Jason licks his lips. 

"You weren't expecting this. Amina and Marie-Angelique were very clear that you were *familiar* with wolves, Monsieur Blood." 

"I — would you mind terribly if I stood up?" 

"Hm. I suppose I am *looming* over you. You'll forgive me; I don't usually get to be the taller man." 

Jason coughs a laugh as he stands — 

And Treville smiles into his eyes. — and offers his hand. 

Jason clasps his forearm. "Jason Blood, as you already know."

"Lieutenant Jean-Armand du Peyrer de Tréville of the King's Musketeers, as *you* already know. If you *must* call me something other than Treville, I'd rather it be Lieutenant than anything else," he says, and continues to smile. 

It's a warm smile. 

It's — 

Jason hums. "Please, call me Jason. But... I can't help but be disappointed, Treville." 

"Oh, yes?" 

"You're still taller than *me*." 

Treville snorts. "So I am. Kindly stand next to me for the next fifty years or so, Jason. That should pull my self-esteem out of the latrines." 

Jason grins. 

Treville winks — and then sobers, quick and *perfectly*. 

"I'm listening." 

"I need you to answer questions, Jason. I need..." Treville bares his teeth again — 

Flares his nostrils again — 

"You smell entirely too good to me, and I would like to know why." 

Jason swallows and squeezes his eyes shut — but only for a moment. "Given what is happening in the rest of your house, and given the conversation I, Claudette, and Aramis —" 

"His name is *Aramis*? No, go on." 

Jason inclines his head. "Given the conversation we were all having with the All-Mother about *mating* —" 

Treville inhales sharply and steps *back*. "No." 

Jason winces. "You shouldn't think I'm champing at the bit, *either*. Aramis and I have only *just* completed *our* mating, and, as I discussed with *him*, I've always been the sort of person who preferred keeping myself to one lover at a *time*." Jason raises an eyebrow. "I presume you're the same way?" 

"I..." 

"No...? Wait, what am I saying, you're a *wolf*." 

"Yes, that," Treville says, and smiles wryly. "Though, to be fair, the All-Mother has told me that Trevilles on other spheres who *aren't* wolves are also... excitable." 

Jason hums. "Is that how you want to put it...?" 

"I — why don't we join my Amina-love?" 

"Of course. Why *did* you separate us in the first place?" 

"You read as a threat." 

"I was *unconscious* on your *floor*." 

"The fact that you read as a threat to my *equilibrium* did not mean that you read as less of a threat in *general*, Jason." 

Jason snorts — 

Treville gestures Jason to precede him — 

They walk out of the room and into the well-appointed halls. 

"Your home is beautiful." 

"Thank you. I have absolutely *nothing* to do with it," Treville says, and yips a laugh. 

Jason snorts again. "All *right*. Though, I wanted to say — I *highly* approve of your choice of Alaire as a... well, what *is* his job description?" 

"Secular Miracle-Worker." 

Jason coughs another laugh — 

Considers — 

Licks his lips — 

"You're thinking about it." 

"Yes —" 

"You're thinking about it and you know I'm *right*." 

"Of course I do; I hire quartermasters all the *time* when I stay in one place, as opposed to traveling. I just never *put* it that way before." 

_Not enough religion in your life._

Oh, *shut* it. 

"Hm? What was that?" 

"Oh — that was Etrigan *needling* me. He's always felt I needed more religion in my life. He's a *very* dutiful son to the All-Mother." 

"I can see how that could be uncomfortable if you're not a religious sort yourself." 

"Mm. Not to worry," Jason says, and smiles. "I know how to *behave* around earth-mages." 

Treville grunts. "Not *too* well, I hope. I do my best to pretend the gods aren't bloody there, right up until the All-Mother scruffs me." 

Jason blinks — and stares. 

Treville smiles *sharply* at him. 

"I'm going to be thinking about that." 

"I'm going to be thinking about you, so I think that's fair," Treville says, and then — stops them. 

"Yes?" 

"We're almost there. Kitos and Reynard are close. They're losing their minds for your Claudette. For her *scents*. They... they haven't had mates. They're *my* age and they've never had mates. They've never even really had serious *lovers* to call their own. Not outside of the pack. They didn't *do* serious. Now... this."

Jason inclines his head. "I am familiar with the... intensity of first mating for wolves." 

"Are you? Have you had it?" And Treville is staring *into* him. 

"Not for myself —" 

Treville reaches up — and *doesn't* touch Jason's face. 

His hand *shakes*. 

He drops it. "I was only ever supposed to feel *this* for one person, Jason. Just one." 

"I —" 

"Tell me what *you* feel right now." 

"The need to talk to *Aramis* before *we* talk about *this* any more than we already have." 

Treville *growls* — and nods. "I like you. That's good. I'd hate to be mated to a pillock. Let's go." 

Jason snorts *again*, and follows. 

Kitos and Reynard turn out to be just as irritatingly tall as Treville has intimated, though, in all honesty, Kitos's height, at nearly seven *feet*, would make the vast majority of *humanity* feel inadequate.

Reynard is a much more reasonable six-foot-three or so, but he is *ridiculously* beautiful, with the ruthlessly symmetrical features of a Fair Folk who means to drive a certain portion of the human race *utterly* round the twist. At least *his* red hair comes with *freckles*. 

And Jason would *swear* Treville knows what he's *thinking*, given the wryly amused look on his face. 

*Kitos* is more reasonable in this respect, with a rakishly broken nose Jason can't help but feel kinship with, and a beard that starts high on his cheeks and flows all the way down to his belly. 

Someone has put a few thin braids in his shoulder-length hair — 

And both he and Reynard are alternately looming over Treville and pacing away, lifting their noses and growling, pacing back and snuffling, obviously *remembering* that Jason is *there* and sniffing *him* — 

Blinking — 

Looking to Treville with their eyebrows up — 

Flaring their nostrils *again* — 

*Growling* more — 

And then it all begins anew. 

This repeats for a few cycles until Treville reaches up and grips them both by the shoulder. 

"Meneur —" 

"Fearless —" 

"This is what's going to happen. Are you listening?" 

"We are *listening*, meneur, mais —" 

"Listen. Jason and I are going in there. We're talking to his mate and his mate's mother about everything going on, including the fact that the mother — and her name is Claudette —" 

Kitos and Reynard croon together — 

"— has two *excellent* mates awaiting her *pleasure*." 

"And that Jason has *you*, Fearless?" And Kitos turns to *him*. "Hey, there, mate, I promise I usually have some home-training. I really *would* like to talk to you sometime, and get to know you. I'm just..." And then he croons again while smiling ruefully. 

Jason smiles back. "I understand entirely. I have known any number of wolves over the course of my life." 

"So... you can prepare Claudette for us...?" And Reynard manages to look hopeful, starved, and murderous at the same time. 

Jason licks his lips. "Ah..." 

Kitos scruffs Reynard. "He didn't actually mean that. *Any* of that. Did you, fox-face." 

"Non. *Non*. Especially not the... preparation," he says, and growls low, eyes flashing a hot, swampy green — 

"*Fox*-face —" 

And then Treville *snarls* — and Kitos *and* Reynard stand straight and shift entirely back to human-form. 

And, truly, all of that *would* be a relief — 

Except that there was something about Treville's snarl that Jason's *body* vastly appreciated. 

And Treville is flaring his nostrils and *looking* at him. 

Into him. 

*Wonderful*. "Talking, Treville. We have a *lot* of it to do." 

"Anything you say," he says, low and appreciative, and then turns back to Kitos and Reynard. "Don't lurk." 

"But —" 

"*Meneur* —" 

"Show some breeding, lads — and take care of the *cubs* when one or all of them walk past this room and suddenly *Aramis* is the best-smelling human in the house." 

"*Merde* —" 

"Fuck — wait, his name is *Aramis*?" 

Treville points down the hall — and away from the door he's protecting. 

"Right, right, we're going," Kitos says. 

"I do not remember agreeing to this," Reynard says. 

"You were probably drunk, fox-face." 

"Ah, oui, this is probable," Reynard says, and inclines his head to Jason — 

Kitos sketches a casual salute — 

And then they depart. 

Treville doesn't watch them go, but he also doesn't open the door, or even knock. 

For... rather a while. 

Jason raises an eyebrow. 

"I'm waiting for them to get a little further out of scent-range. And, to be fair, listening to my Amina-love say nice things about me to your Aramis and Claudette."

Jason hums. "She's a remarkable woman." 

"That's *right*. I — from the very first *moment* —" And Treville growls. "I don't know what I'm going to say to her." 

"I recommend the *truth* —" 

"Of *course* I'll be *honest*, but..." Treville frowns. 

"You don't think that will be enough." 

Treville looks at him. Into him, again. "Will it be enough for your Aramis?"

Jason smiles ruefully. "I hope so. I... he has brought such light to my existence. I cannot hurt him, Treville — or even make him *unhappy*." 

Treville inhales sharply — "I feel *precisely* the same about my Amina-love, and —" 

And then Treville is stumbling backwards as the door is yanked open behind him — 

And Amina is there, growling at — both of them. "*Kitos* and *Reynard* had an *excuse* to lurk outside the door, sweet brother. *You* and *Jason* do *not*." 

"Right you are, Amina-love," Treville says, standing straight and adjusting the hat he isn't currently wearing. I'll just do my lurking *inside* the door —" 

"You will *not*!" 

"I will not; you're right; you're *always* right," Treville says, and pulls Amina close, nuzzles her ear —- and whispers, softly enough that he probably didn't realize it *would* carry to Jason, "Help. Please." 

Amina harrumphs, turns her head, and nips Treville's cheek — 

"Yow — or that —" 

"Come *in*, sweet brother. Sit *down*." 

"I can do that —" 

"And you do the *same*, Jason," she says, and beckons Jason further into the room, which is a *very* respectable library, with just a few tables for studying and many comfortable-looking chairs and couches. 

Amina points to an otherwise nondescript spot on the floor near the windows. "*That* is where the All-Mother left the three of you. My sweet brother decided that he would take you to his study, while I cared for your mate and his mama," she says, and leads them deeper into the stacks. 

"Oh, yes?" I wonder how you feel about that.

"Your mate is very pleased with the books," she says, and rumbles deep. "This is *well*. Our cubs *love* to read." 

"That's wonderful —" 

Treville clears his throat — 

Amina glares at him — 

Treville hums and raises his hands as he walks. 

Amina harrumphs again. "Odile is our youngest. She is only a toddler!"

"A toddler who *categorically* refuses to listen to any of us about teaching that doesn't involve her learning how to wreak havoc," Treville says, and sighs with fulsome pride. 

"She is just like *you*." 

Treville grins. "In a lot of ways, Amina-love. But that just means that we have to dangle a few violent carrots in front of her perfect little face in order to get her to sit down for her studies." 

"*You* already want to put a *musket* in her hands!" 

"I do *not*." 

Amina *looks* at Treville. 

"Nothing bigger than a pistol, I *promise* —" 

Amina *caws* a laugh *while* smacking Treville — 

Treville beams like a *boy* — 

Amina *hoots* — 

Treville *swaggers* — 

"Go *on* with you! We have to make a good impression!" 

"I'll have you know that *Jason* likes me," Treville says, as they step into an open area at the far side of the library that's well-lit by wall-sconces. 

There are even more comfortable-looking couches, and Aramis and Claudette are sharing one of them. 

Claudette is sipping from a cup of tea — 

And Aramis is studying Jason. 

This is entirely reasonable, as Jason is studying *him* — 

(My Jason...) 

Yours, Jason says, and sits on Aramis's other side, tilting his face up and kissing him *hard*. 

(Oh! But — *but* —) 

Wolves do not stand on ceremony, mon grand. Now *kiss* me.

Aramis *moans* and does Jason *several* better, climbing onto his *lap* and sitting sidesaddle — 

Nuzzling and nipping at Jason's *mouth* — 

Moaning and whispering fervently in Caló — 

Whispering his love — 

Whispering his need and his hunger and his *fears* — 

He is so *brave* — 

Jason growls and bites his *throat* — 

Aramis's musk *rises* —

And so do the scents of the wolves' and Claudette's *approval*. 

Jason doesn't need to focus on that right now. 

All he needs, in this moment, are the scents and flavours and *realities* of his mate — 

His beautiful *mate* — 

(I am *yours*!) 

*Mine*. 

(Oh, yes, yes, *yes*! But...) 

Do *not* take yourself away from me, Aramis. I will *never* take myself away from you. 

(Not even if.) 

I will never do it. I *cannot* do it. Not now that I've tasted you. Not now that you're blood of my *blood*. Now finish that *thought*. 

Aramis moans again — 

Shifts on Jason's lap — 

Jason grips him *tighter* for a moment — Are you uncomfortable? 

(I want... I want to be closer. Please let me —) 

Jason summons strength for his limbs, *lifts* Aramis — 

"Oh!" 

And then makes Aramis *straddle* his lap so that they can *face* each other — and be closer. "Better?" 

Aramis smiles brightly — and nuzzles Jason's mouth again, drags his downy cheek against Jason's beardless one — 

"Mon grand..." 

"My Jason... *All* of me loves you." 

Jason growls again. "All of me feels *precisely* the same. Now tell me what you were thinking." 

Aramis licks his lips and flushes. "Yes, my Jason. I... you will not put me aside. You mean this. You *believe* this. This is *truth* in your *soul* — all through you and all through me!" 

"You're my *mate*." 

"Yes, and I am *yours*. But... I can feel you, and I can feel your thoughts, and see them, and *know* them. I know your *soul*." And Aramis raises an eyebrow. 

Jason winces and nods. "We must speak about the wolves. And specifically about me and Treville." 

Jason can see Treville scrubbing a hand down over his face in his peripheral vision — 

But Amina is rumbling. "We will bind your pack to ours in *two* ways..." 

Treville grunts — "Amina-love —" 

She throws up a hand. "You asked for my help, sweet brother. Now you will *take* it," Amina says, and moves close to their couch. "Jason, please reassure your Aramis that he will always be first in your heart, as my sweet brother *undoubtedly* wishes to do with me right *now*." 

"Fuck — I do!" 

Amina shows her teeth. 

"I really — I want —" 

"I *know*. *Shut* it." 

Treville growls — 

Amina *snaps* at him — 

And Treville steps back. "Fine. But you *will* let me *talk*." 

"When it is your turn, sweet brother. *Not* before," Amina says, and turns back to *them* with an eyebrow raised. 

But... 

Jason swallows. "I want to give Aramis everything. I want to be *able* to give him my absolute *faith* and *loyalty* and *fealty*." 

And Amina's gaze softens, but — 

But Aramis squeezes him *tightly* —

He had felt Jason's need. 

He had — 

"Oh, Aramis —" Jason growls more and nips and kisses him all over his *face* — 

And Claudette clears her throat, setting her tea and saucer down on an end table. "Amina..." 

"Yes, Claudette?" 

"You are saying that Jason *will* be able to have a place in his heart for Aramis that is only ever his, and that that place will be... paramount?" 

"*Oh*, yes. I discussed this with the All-Mother in *detail* when She told me that my sweet brother could be mated to Jason, as I believe you can *understand*." 

"I can, indeed," Claudette says. "But... is this sort of thing common among wolves? Having more than one mate?" 

"I do not know the answer to that question, Claudette," Amina says. "What I *do* know is that the All-Mother is *very* fond of giving Her children *packs*, whether or not they are pack-animals." 

"So She intimated with us," Claudette says, and nods thoughtfully — 

Jason *clutches* Aramis — 

But Aramis is thoughtful, as well. 

Quiet and inner-focused. 

So — 

Aramis... 

(My Jason... I must ask Amina a question which may hurt you.) 

Jason blinks — but. You want to know whether Amina knows more about the possibility of you being mated to one of them. 

(She knows much, my Jason. She has *kept* us *in* here, away from the doors and windows...) Aramis shivers and kisses Jason's pulse point. "I do not know. And I remember the All-Mother's words. And I am afraid." 

And this... 

This means Jason *must* be strong. 

Jason pulls back and tilts Aramis's face up. "Do you understand that you will always be first in my heart?" 

"Even if Treville continues to be ridiculous and funny and handsome and strong and wild?"

"You are the light of my existence, mon grand. You are my love, and my life, and my *student*. You..." Jason growls. "Stand for me." 

Aramis inhales and obeys. 

"Step back... just a little farther than that... good," Jason says, standing, pulling the uncursed sword he had chosen for this moment from his armoury, and then dropping to his knees. He proffers the sword with his head bent. "Please." 

"*Oh* — what — what do I say?" 

"Say that you'll take my love — forever." 

"I will *always* take your love!" 

"Say that you'll take my *allegiance* forever." 

"Oh —" 

"*Please*." 

"*Yes*, my Jason!" 

Jason growls and feels the bindings on them heat, tighten, *sing* — "Say that you will take my power for your *own* for all of our *days*." 

And Aramis's eyes are wide — 

So bright and wide and *full* — 

And his smile is *maniacally* happy as he reaches for the hilt of the sword — 

Jason strengthens Aramis's limbs just *so* — 

"Oh — *yes*! Yes! *Yes*, my Jason, *yes*!" And Aramis takes the sword and lifts it, strokes it, *sniffs* it — 

Jason is *hard* — 

And then Aramis touches Jason's shoulders and the crown of his head with the sword, gently and carefully — 

The bindings *snap* into place — 

"HNH —" 

And Jason shivers and grins and stands, taking his sword back and steadying Aramis on his feet before he can fall. "My Aramis..." 

"My *knight*! Oh, I love you! I love you so *much*!" 

Jason licks his lips. "I will always be yours, mon grand. *Always*." 

Aramis beams up at him for long, bright moments — 

It is *precisely* like living in sunlight — 

And then Aramis hugs him tightly and leads them back to the couch. 

"Yes, mon grand...?" 

"I am ready to speak now. I am ready for us to speak of *all* things." 

Jason inclines his head, puts his sword away, and sits down beside his Aramis. 

His beautiful liege. 

Aramis presses close against Jason's side — 

Jason wraps his arm around Aramis's waist — and watches Aramis lure Claudette closer with teasing tugs on her skirts. 

Claudette hums and acquiesces to Aramis's desires, moving close enough to nip his ear before turning to gaze blandly at Treville and Amina, who have taken the couch across from theirs. 

Amina is staring at them with absolute approval — and hunger. 

*Treville* is staring at them with absolute approval, hunger, and *need*. And when Jason meets his gaze...

"Jason," Treville says, and his voice is low and gruff again, and now Jason understands that that speaks of hunger, of control being *frayed* by proximity to what he *wants* — 

Jason squeezes Aramis tightly — 

"Uff —" 

"Damn — I apologize —" 

"No, you are *affected* by Treville. By his need for you?" 

There is no room for anything but honesty. "Both, yes." 

Treville growls — 

And Amina squeezes his wrist with what looks to be *painful* force. 

Treville winces — "Perhaps I should leave you all —" 

"You will *stay*, sweet brother." 

"Amina-love —" 

Claudette clears her throat. "If you'll excuse me, Treville...? May I call you that?" 

"Oh — please do. And may I call you Claudette?" 

Claudette smiles warmly. "I hope you will — especially if everything your mate has told me about you is true." 

"She — she's a bit biased —" 

"I will beat you!" 

"But she is, of course, never wrong," Treville says, and nods with a mock-judicious frown on his face. 

Claudette hums. "Only this, Treville: We have much to discuss if we *are* going to bring our families together — and it seems that there will be much suffering if we do not." 

"Oh — you haven't met Kitos or Reynard, yet, but they're wonderful. Beautiful people. Smart, loving, caring, funny — they'll take care of you forever. They'll give you everything you need. Everything you *want*. They —" 

Claudette raises a hand to stop him — 

And Treville raises an eyebrow. "You want us to talk, but not about this...?" 

"Your Amina has already told me much of your brothers, Treville. We spent quite a bit of time alone together while you were with Jason." 

Treville blushes — "I don't know why I'm blushing." 

"Yes, you *do*, sweet brother." 

"Yes, I do, and — he was *asleep*." 

"You were watching my mate sleep?" And Aramis cocks his head to the side. 

"Yes —" 

"You were thinking of touching him?" 

"I —" 

"His face? His body? His —" 

"His *face*," Treville says, and gets up to pace, growl — 

Pace more — 

Sniff the *air* — "You're a wonderful-smelling young man, Aramis." 

Aramis blinks — 

*Jason* blinks — 

Amina *guffaws* — "Sit *down*, sweet brother." 

"Yes, you're right, that's probably for the best," Treville says, and continues to pace for another several long moments — 

"Jean-*Armand*." 

"Jason's *hard* over there! And *you're* *wet*." 

Claudette coughs — 

Aramis continues to blink — 

Amina stares *daggers* at her mate — 

And Jason, because he likes to be prepared, pulls an *extremely* rare slab of roasted venison out of one of his storage pockets. The preservation-spell on the thing has held beautifully — there isn't even any scent until Jason *breaks* the spell. 

"My Jason, what —" 

"One moment, Aramis," Jason says, and tosses the meat to Treville, who catches it handily, ears twitching and lengthening just a little. 

Treville stares at him for a long moment. 

Licks his teeth.

His ears shift back to human — and he smiles. "You *do* know wolves." 

Jason inclines his head. 

Treville *grins* — and sits down and eats — after tearing off half the portion for Amina. 

"I..." Aramis licks his lips. 

"The meat is... soothing?" And Claudette looks back and forth between Jason and the wolves. 

Amina swallows a large bite. "*Oh*, yes. It is the *best* way for someone to settle a wolf down when there is not — yet — a desire for greater physical contact." 

Claudette crosses her legs and runs her fingers through Aramis's hair. "Physical contact is usually best...? Please don't rush to answer me, of course." 

Amina chews almost perfunctorily and swallows another bite — and they can see that her teeth have lengthened. "All is well, Claudette. It is not *me* who *needed* settling — as opposed to needing this very good meat!"

Jason hums. "My pleasure." 

Amina rumbles and rumbles — "Mm. We will take you hunting with us." 

*Treville* rumbles, eyes gleaming — 

"Just so, my husband," Amina says. "Now, in answer to your question, Claudette: It is nearly *always* best to settle an agitated wolf with physical contact of *some* kind. Bringing good scents close to an anxious or frightened wolf, offering your throat and belly to the wolf you have *angered*, lifting your arse for the wolf whose cock you have hardened..."

"The gist is clear," Claudette says. "How... aggressive do you expect your brothers to be?" 

Treville swallows hugely — his teeth are shorter than Amina's, though not completely human in appearance. "They will not force themselves on you, if that's what you were asking," he says, low and even and very, very serious. 

Claudette raises an eyebrow, and looks to Jason. 

"The measure of the wolf is the measure of the *man*, Claudette," Jason says. "Wolves are more precipitous when they are *in* their full-wolf and halfway forms, but they are *not* more morally ambiguous." 

Claudette nods slowly. 

Treville looks to him *gratefully* — 

"What of..." Aramis licks his lips. 

"Yes, Aramis?" And Treville searches Aramis's face for cues. 

Aramis presses even *closer* to Jason's side — 

Jason squeezes him again — "All is well, my Aramis. We must speak of everything which comes to mind." 

"Yes, my Jason. I... what of your *children*. What of *their* control and *their* morality." 

Treville and Amina smile at each other — 

And then Treville nods, and Amina goes back to eating. 

"None of us were born wolves, son," Treville says. "The All-Mother turned me when I was seventeen, and I turned my brothers Kitos and Laurent, and Reynard, when Laurent found him for us. Laurent turned Marie-Angelique approximately ten minutes after they *met*, and I didn't show all that much more aplomb with my Amina-love. Still — we were *nominally* adults, with the *control* of adults. 

"And then we started having children. Our eldest, Porthos, is not my son by blood —" 

Amina swallows hugely again — "I had *just* been turned by my sweet brother, and my blood was up. I was young and *foolish*. I wanted to *terrify* the *stupid*, *blustering* man who had been my patron before my sweet brother came to sweep me off my feet —" 

"This would be the Marquis de Belgard...?" And Aramis leans in slightly.

Amina grins... wolfishly. "So the old tales *do* still get told!" 

Claudette smiles her own sharp smile. "In some places, by some people. *Quietly*." 

"As it should be. I was not expecting the pathetic little man to *spend* in his terror. Nor was I expecting to wind up *pregnant*. I was *mortified*." 

Treville licks residual blood off his fingers. "She thought — mm. She thought that, somehow, I wouldn't accept and love all her children. All *our* children." 

Amina rumbles. "I was very new, and very young, and very confused... but this is not the tale we mean to tell," she says, and goes back to eating her meat. 

"No...?" And Claudette looks to Treville. 

"No, Claudette," Treville says, and wipes his hands on a handkerchief, which he then sniffs thoroughly — and smiles at — before tucking it away again. "We... we had children — and Laurent and Marie-Angelique had their Olivier only a few months before Porthos was born, and their Thomas barely a year later." 

Amina swallows. "We were not *slow*," she says, and goes back to eating. 

"No, we were *not*," Treville says. "It took us a couple more years to have our Lucien, but then Jeannette came right after, and then Kitos got Marie-Angelique pregnant with Selene, and then *we* had our Odile." 

"The All-Mother rarely stands for her lycanthrope and shifter-children being... continent," Jason says, and smiles. 

Treville looks at him. "Your wolf-lovers. Have they left you for their mates?" 

"I..." 

"Have they set you *aside*." 

"Not *that*, Treville —" 

"Are you *sure*." 

"I couldn't be entirely myself with them —" 

"Why *not*?" 

Jason smiles wryly. "I needed help with that. I needed help to learn how to *do* that — and to do it *consistently*." 

"My Amina-love told me..." And Treville smells hurt — and hurt for *him*. 

Jason knows exactly what he's thinking about. "Treville — don't —" 

"I apologize," he says, low and formal. "I won't interrupt my tale again." 

Aramis clears his throat like his mother. 

The wolves focus on him with their eyebrows up.

Aramis flushes, just a little, and Jason can't not kiss his temple. 

(I love you!) 

Always. 

"Treville," Aramis says. "What I felt a moment ago..." 

"Yes, son?" 

"You hurt for my Jason? For his pain?" 

Treville meets Aramis's eyes steadily. "I do." 

"And you hurt for your Amina's pain just as quickly?" 

Treville smiles, eyes alight. "Son, it rapidly became one of the primary sources of joy of my life to discover all the problems that were plaguing my Amina-love and slice them into several much-smaller pieces." 

Amina snorts and licks *her* fingers — "He made such — mm — *mm* — such *messes*!" 

"That I did." 

They sigh together. 

"I believe you wish to make messes with the people who have hurt my Jason." 

Treville smiles ruefully. "Well... you're right. But... I don't think it's my place. Quite?" 

Aramis studies Treville, long and deep — 

Treville is *obviously* leaving himself open for it — 

And, after another several moments, Aramis nods. "You will not try to take my mate away from me." 

"I will not." 

"You will not leave me lonely and *cold*." 

"I would *never*, son —" 

"You believe people who do such things to other people, to *good* people, deserve *much* pain, *much* suffering." 

"That I do —" 

"Please continue telling us about your children," Aramis says, and rests one hand on Jason's knee and one hand on *Claudette's* knee. 

Treville and Amina both *look* at that other hand — 

Flare their *nostrils* — 

And then Treville licks his lips — 

And Amina rumbles and leans back, arms spread along the back of the couch. 

Treville flares his nostrils *again* — and snorts. "I may need more meat, Jason." 

"I happen to have some to hand."

"*Good*. Where was I?" 

Claudette hums and tugs on Aramis's hair. "You were telling us that you were not *slow* about having children in the pack." 

"That's right, and, if the All-Mother is kind to us, we'll have even more," Treville says, and strokes his trim, soft-looking beard. "But we rapidly realized something as our *first* few children became toddlers." 

"And what was that?" 

"Well, Claudette, we realized that *they* were all wolves. Of course, *obviously* we'd realized that while they were still in the womb — and we'd rejoiced for that —" 

"Especially with our Porthos," Amina says.

"Damned right. He has *nothing* of his blood-father and *everything* of my Amina-love —" 

"And *you*, sweet brother —" 

"And that suits us just fine," Treville says. "But I was saying — we realized that our children, our tiny, strange, impossible, questionably-sane children, were werewolves. Powerful beyond the telling of it — capable of killing a strong, healthy adult human with a leap and one swipe of their shifted claws by the time they were *four*." 

"I." And Aramis is blinking — 

And Claudette is lifting one hand to her throat — "How... no. You taught them control." 

Amina and Treville smile at each other with pain, and then Amina says: "We taught them *ruthless* control, Claudette. We taught them to put themselves on leads of *chain* like *dogs*. We taught them that they must never, *ever* break free... unless, of course, they were with us." 

"And it killed us to do it. I think you can guess how wild we all were *before* we were turned?" 

"The idea had occurred," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Treville yips a laugh. "*Good*. We felt like the worst kinds of hypocrites treating our children like that. In truth, we still *do* feel that way." 

"And so we make sure they always know *why* we teach them such harsh lessons, why they must always have such *iron* control," Amina says. "They know the *dangers* of the Church, and they know the dangers of their own emotions — should they get *away* from them." 

"And we *also* make sure they have as much time as possible to relax with us. They need it, after all the time they spend on the lead," Treville says, and growls. "Porthos and Olivier will have it easiest. The pack has *made* the King's Musketeers into a place where wolves can be — almost — themselves. The rest of our children will have to navigate the French court, and, while we've had ideas about how to make that easier for them, implementing those ideas has been a process of three steps forward and two steps back." 

"There are only so many problems we can solve with assassinations *alone*," Amina says. 

"But we're getting afield again," Treville says. "Does that answer your question, son?" 

Aramis frowns. 

"No...?" 

"Yes, but... why have you kept your children from this room? If they are so controlled." And he looks to both Treville and Amina. 

Jason squeezes Aramis again — 

Claudette scratches Aramis's scalp in obvious approval — 

"Because as soon as the three of you arrived, all hell broke loose with Kitos and Reynard and *me*, son. Amina was her usual wonderful self, but I didn't want to take any chances that I didn't *have* to take. When we introduce you to our children — and to Laurent's and Marie-Angelique's children — you're going to have a solid background in who we are and what we're *about*, just in *case*." 

"You do not wish me to *flee* your children." 

"Not for any *number* of reasons, son —" 

"Are all boys your son?" 

Amina *honks* — "No, precious boy. Only the intelligent and mouthy ones who *move* like they know their way around a *blade*." 

Treville blushes *fascinatingly* — and scratches in front of his ear with a finger. 

When Jason checks, Aramis *and* Claudette both have eyebrows raised. Jason hums and raises his own much more gently. 

Treville laughs quietly. "You all *absolutely* need to know what I'm about," he says, and leans forward, letting his large, scarred hands dangle between his knees. "Before the All-Mother scruffed and turned me at seventeen, I was *just* settling into the idea that it was all *right* to be a buggerer, and to enjoy going with men and boys, so long as I wasn't a pillock about it. I was not at *all* prepared to have a goddess, and I was even *less* prepared to return to life *above* the surface of the earth — and a cock that pointed at women, too." 

Amina laughs evilly. "You *deserved* it, sweet brother." 

"Thank you *very* much for that, Amina-love —" 

"Please tell us how you go about avoiding being a 'pillock'," Claudette says. 

Treville inclines his head to her. "When I was a boy, I wanted, more than anything else, to be taken in hand and put through my *paces* by someone bigger, harder, and *greater* than myself. I had detailed and *specific* fantasies about how this would go, and they only grew more... intense as time passed," Treville says, and very clearly looks into his own past. 

That... "Treville... were you thinking of someone specific?" 

Treville grins at him. "That I was, Jason: My father." 

Jason coughs — 

Though, truly, at this point he has no *right* to — 

Amina is *cackling* — 

And Aramis is patting his back. 

"In any event, as I was saying, I knew what I wanted, and I knew how to go about getting it — or rather, I had the *theory* of that down, because my father was about as much of a buggerer as *I'm* a *cat*, and my father's lieutenants — who had the thankless task of watching over and educating me while I was on campaign with them — watched me like they were guarding a prince of the realm, and didn't let *anyone* with those inclinations *near* me." 

Aramis frowns. "Then... how did you know *anything* about how to get what you wanted?" 

"Stories, son. Soldiers *always* talk, and I always listened. I listened to *everything* — and I think you can guess what kinds of stories began capturing the lion's share of my attention once my cock became my closest friend." 

"I *see*. Please continue!" 

Treville smiles and inclines his head again. "I knew what I wanted. I knew how to go about getting it. And, when I left my father's side to enlist in the Army — when I ran *away* from my father's side because being around him and *not* telling him how I felt was driving me madder each and every day — I at *first* meant to keep a low profile and behave myself, but..." And he turns his smile on Claudette. 

Her expression quirks. "*Which* of my mates changed your mind — no, you hadn't met Reynard when you were that young, correct? It would've been Kitos." 

"Exactly," Treville says. "He was known as Honoré then, and he was my best mate — and he, along with our commanding officer Laurent, quickly became more my brother than anyone I was related to by blood. It was the tradition for the boys who had the money for it — however they managed to earn it, and both Honoré and I had our ways — to go with the female whores who attached themselves to the regiment *every* time we had a few hours' worth of leave. I avoided it when I could by getting into as much trouble as possible, but since Honoré was always *with* me... 

"Well, I couldn't bear to deny him *his* fun. So I fucked women even when it was anything but what I wanted to do, and I was apparently *appallingly* obvious about it. Honoré — who's a little less than a year older than me — described the expression on my face as 'grimly constipated' — 

Jason *snorts* — 

Coughs — 

"Ah — do go on." 

Treville winks at him and grins. "He had to smack me around a bit before I would stop being needlessly belligerent and actually have the conversation he was *trying* to have with me." 

Claudette hums. "Which was?" 

"Which *was* that there wouldn't be countless brothels out there full of men and boys if there weren't countless *men* out there who wanted men and boys just as much as I did. And then he glared at me in an attempt to get me to admit it." 

"Did that... work?" And Aramis studies Treville. 

"No," Treville says, and *barks* a laugh. "But when he picked me up bodily, slammed me against the washroom wall, and kissed all the air out of my body... well, I was much more agreeable. I clung to him with *all* my limbs. If I could've figured out a way to cling to him with my cock? I would've." 

*Aramis* coughs. 

"And, when we — eventually — went out whoring together, we always picked boys who knew what they wanted, and knew how to *get* what they wanted, and who knew how to *communicate* what they wanted." 

Claudette raises her eyebrows. 

Aramis raises *his* — 

Jason merely cocks his head to the side. 

Treville spreads his hands. "I never could stomach the idea of treating a boy worse than how I wanted to be treated when I *was* a boy. I'll grant you that not all young men are raised by regiments, and thus not all young men know *exactly* how everything *works* — but that's what *talking* is for. *Extensive* talk, during which everyone figures *out* what is and isn't wanted — at least until someone changes their mind, at which point the *adult* changes *course*." 

Amina nods once. "The young ones must be cherished and protected, whether or not you are also making love with them." 

Jason blinks — 

But Claudette is faster: "You make love with your children." 

Amina cocks her head to the side. "We do, Claudette... when they are ready for it, and *if* they wish it." 

Claudette takes a breath — "This is why you and Marie-Angelique wished to speak with me. Jason told you about me and my Aramis."

"It is *one* of the reasons why we did. We knew that you and your Aramis *must* be people who we would enjoy having in our lives in *some* way *before* we knew anything but that you *existed*. Your connection with Jason would've been *enough*. But... 

"The more Jason spoke of you and your Aramis, the more kinship we felt. The more *urgency* we felt. We do not feel any less *now*," Amina says. 

Treville shakes his head and smiles. "And when my Amina-love says 'we'... well, the de la Fères will be here in minutes — minus Laurent who, unfortunately, *can't* get away from the garrison, especially with me, Kitos, and Reynard all missing." 

Aramis caresses Claudette's knee warmly — and pointedly. "Would you expect all of us to join all of *you* in bed, Treville?" 

Treville smiles with a kind of *filthy* paternalism. "That depends entirely on you, son." 

"I —" 

"On all of you, and on what all of you want, and how you all want it, and *when* you all want it," Treville says. 

"We are at your *disposal*," Amina says. 

"And all we need do is bind our family to yours," Jason says, and laughs quietly. 

Treville leans forward even more. "You're hesitant. Tell us why; let us fix it —" 

"Yes, *do*," Amina says, crossing her legs and leaning forward, as well. 

Jason smiles wryly — and looks to Aramis and Claudette. 

Aramis studies him — 

And then both he and Claudette nod after a frighteningly brief period of time — or rather, after a period of time which *would've* been frightening a *week* ago, but is now only warm and *correct*. 

Perfect. 

(My mate, always.) 

(Our love,) Claudette says, and reaches to stroke Jason's face with her soft fingers. 

Jason shivers — and turns to kiss her fingertips. 

Aramis beams at them *both* — 

(If you wish, my love, I will speak about why *we* are *all* hesitant with the wolves,) Claudette says. 

(Yes! And I will do the same,) Aramis says — 

Jason turns away from Claudette's fingers and kisses Aramis's temple again. They would know that you both were... dissembling for me. 

(But —) 

(They would smell it...?) And Claudette's eyebrows are up again. 

Oh, yes, Jason says, and kisses Aramis's temple again before pulling back with a smile. You and mon grand have *never* needed especially long periods of time to make up your minds. 

(Hesitation is often death, my love,) Claudette says, and her expression speaks of patience. 

She is waiting for Jason to say *why* he is hesitating. 

Neither she nor Aramis is looking within him for the answer — 

Because they know they do not *have* to. 

Not anymore. 

Jason smiles ruefully at his loves, while Amina and Treville wait for them. 

Jason smiles at his *family* — and nods. It is not fear, he says. Not truly. 

(We could sense this, my mate...) 

Claudette nods. 

Jason brings her hand back to his mouth, and kisses the palm — 

She strokes his lips — 

He shivers and *wants* — absolutely everything. Everything that is already his, and everything that he has been offered. He wants it all... and now he must take it. 

(My mate?) 

Jason brings Aramis's hand to his mouth, as well, and he immediately twines it with Claudette's. Jason kisses them, and kisses them, and — Mon grand. Ma joie. I fear *nothing* in this moment save that I will wake up and find myself the man I was a week ago. I fear nothing in this moment save that I will turn to one or both of you and say or do something which *proves* that I am the man I was a week ago. I fear nothing in this moment save —

(My *love*,) Claudette says, and *gleams* at him, gold and sharp and so very hot. (You could never be *unworthy*.) 

Jason inhales. 

(You will listen to Mother now,) Aramis says, and nods. 

I... 

(You fear that you will not be good enough for *us* should you give yourself to *them*. You fear that all your years of *loneliness* and *emptiness* and *aching* have broken something fundamental in you — something which can never be *healed*, and which will in turn injure *us*.) 

I — *yes*. 

(I know better, my love. *We* know better,) Claudette says. 

Aramis nods *once*. 

And there is a part of Jason which only wants to laugh hysterically for that, only wants to point out their *folly*, but...

But. 

They raise their eyebrows as one. 

I gave myself to you, Jason says, wonderingly. I... gave my self, my love, my fealty, my *power* — oh.

Aramis narrows his eyes in a pleased, warm smile. (My Jason knows?) 

I can never hurt you. I can never work *against* you. I can never keep *secrets* from you — even if I *wanted* to. I can never *protect* you from myself. I can't — I can't be an *idiot*. 

Aramis purrs and cuddles close. (My mate had forgotten, I think, just what it meant to *truly* give himself to someone, in *every* way.) 

Yes... I — 

(We will show you how, my love,) Claudette says, and winds a lock of Jason's hair around one of her fingers. (Every *day*.) 

(I believe the wolves will *also* show him how, my Mother...) 

Claudette hums. (Certainly Treville would *like* to...)

(I believe Amina would like to help with this, my Mother...) 

(And Marie-Angelique...?) 

(Looked at my mate as if he were a delicious pastry she wished to lick from her *lips*.) 

I. Hm. I... 

(Yes, my mate?)

(Do you mean to deny what my only son has observed for himself...?) 

Jason coughs — I would *never*. 

They *both* narrow their eyes in pleasure this time, and Jason — 

Is in love. 

(I have always thought,) Claudette says, (that new beginnings are best made with great love...) 

But are you both well? Are you both — 

(We are ready, my love,) Claudette says, and smiles. 

(We are ready in *part* because we know that you will give us everything we need,) Aramis says. 

(Everything we desire.) 

(Everything that will *ease* us.) 

Claudette cocks her head to the side and smiles as wickedly as her son. "Is this not so...?" 

Jason stares — 

Licks his *lips* — 

*Both* Aramis and Claudette laugh throatily — 

"Right," Jason says, and turns back to Amina and Treville. "You were saying?" 

Amina looks — and smells — hungrily amused. 

Treville looks — and smells — moments away from prowling across the *room*. But — that is in his eyes. 

He's holding his body in the same relaxed pose he's *been* holding it in — 

He's doing his *level* best not to spook any of them. 

He — 

And Jason can do better than this. He stands, and crosses the room, and offers Treville his gloved hand. 

Treville flares his nostrils and stares at Jason's hand for long moments. 

Only stares. 

"Would it be... too much to touch me?" 

"No," Treville says, and sounds like he's ordering himself to *make* that the truth. 

Jason raises an eyebrow helplessly — 

"I may be an aging wolf with his mind *firmly* in his trousers, Jason, but..." And Treville takes Jason's hand — 

Jason hauls Treville to his feet — "But...?" 

Treville nuzzles the air between them — and whuffs out a growl. "I'm occasionally bright, Jason. And I *don't* tend to do things which get in the *way* of getting what I want anymore. I won't fuck this up. Now, please, tell me what you need." 

"*All* of you. Tell *us* what you need," Amina says. 

"Introduce me to Kitos and Reynard," Claudette says, and leans back against the couch. 

"Introduce *me* to your children," Aramis says. 

Treville inhales sharply — and growls again, eyes gleaming a hot blue as he obviously takes in more of Jason's scents — 

As Jason's scents drive him *mad* — 

He tries to step *back* — 

And Jason doesn't have to let him. He uses *all* of his strength to keep Treville close — 

Treville *grunts* — 

*His* musk rises *fascinatingly* — 

"Jason —" 

"We — all of us — are done with waiting, Treville." 

Treville looks *into* him. "You're ready for us." 

"Yes." 

"You *want* this — all of this." 

"Yes." 

Treville darts in — and stops before his mouth touches Jason's own. *Stops*. 

Jason smiles. "You're waiting for permission." 

"It seemed prudent with a *knight*." 

Jason laughs just as filthily as he wants to. "Mon grand...?"

"Oh — my *Jason*! You need not —" 

"I am yours, my Aramis. Forever."

Aramis moans. "My Jason wishes me to be *hard* when I meet the wolf-children. He should have just *said*." 

Jason laughs *more* — 

And Aramis hums. "Treville may kiss you, my Jason. He may even clutch you passionately while he does so!" 

Jason grins. "But...?" 

"He *must* stop before his cock hardens so much that he cannot keep his *controls*." 

*Treville* hums. "I may need to stop last week, Aramis." 

Amina snorts hard. "You may need to stop a *generation* ago, sweet brother. The many whores of Europe could use a *holiday*." 

Treville snickers. "You know that just twists a man up, Amina-love. He has to work all that excess energy *off* out there. Somehow." 

But Jason can feel the *atmosphere* lowering from where Claudette and Aramis are sitting — 

Amina sobers herself. "We are only playing," she says in a gentle voice. "My sweet brother never *truly* loses his control. Not in *that* way." 

Treville smiles ruefully over Jason's shoulder. "You learn to keep a lead on when you're making love to smaller, younger people a fair amount of the time." 

"That is true enough," Claudette says noncommittally.

"Mm," Aramis says, and Jason can all but *taste* him getting ready to release a fox among the conversational chickens — 

"Is there something...?" Treville raises his eyebrows. "What are we missing?"

"Amina, at what point did Jason tell you what Aramis and I do for a living...?" 

Jason *grunts* — 

Amina frowns. "You both work?"

Treville is blinking — 

And then Jason watches in horrified *fascination* as the penny drops for *both* Amina and Treville — either simultaneously or nearly so — and they *obviously* begin thinking hard about at least *some* of the things they'd said today. 

He steps *back*, *away* from Treville — 

Treville *grabs* for him — 

"*No*," Jason says — 

"*Don't* — we're not *hypocrites*. We're not — we're not *arseholes*!" 

Jason moves until he can rest a hand on Aramis's shoulder — 

"What my *occasionally* incoherent mate is *trying* to say is that we have *no* objection to your profession," Amina says, speaking directly to Claudette. "Please, *all* of you use your power to look within both of us for this. *All* of us." 

Claudette's expression is stone. "Including your children?" 

"*Oh*, yes. We teach them the *truth* of what this world is like, Claudette — and what people *must* do to survive. You know that Belgard was once my patron. Did you *also* know that I was a *slave* until I was fourteen?" 

Claudette jerks back as though she'd been slapped — 

Aramis blinks rapidly — 

And Jason is not doing much better.

And Amina nods. "My parents — my *tribe* — were *murdered* by the slavers, because they *fought*. I was starved, beaten, *whipped*. My back is scarred from my arse to my *shoulders*. And then? When my 'masters' ran out of money to feed us all? They decided to set me free. By which I mean they kicked me out, onto the Paris streets, with nothing but the dress they ever so graciously allowed me to keep." Amina snarls. "My guardians found me begging in the *gutter*. Sick and dirty. Foul. Helpless. Do you think I was too *proud* to sell myself, Claudette? Do you think I thought myself too *good*?" 

Claudette swallows. "I do not know what you thought... but I would like to." 

Amina inclines her head. "I thought that I was *too* dirty to sell myself. I thought that no man would *want* me enough for that. I thought that I was too *ugly* and *black* —" 

Treville snarls and starts to *shift* — 

Aramis gasps — 

Jason grips his *shoulder* — 

And Amina blows out a breath and beckons Treville close — 

Treville immediately crawls back onto the couch and buries his half-shifted muzzle in against her *throat* even as he squeezes her tightly around her waist — 

"It hurts my sweet brother when I talk this way. But you must know, Claudette, that neither you nor your boy are *less*. You are not small. You are not *dirty*. You are not *foul*. It is the world *outside* that is these things, and *that* is what we mean to *change* — in whatever ways we *can*. 

"You can help us. We *know* you can. We can *feel* this, even if we are not certain of how *precisely* you will fit in our plans and schemes and *dreams*. And, more than that? We *want* you. We *like* you. We want you all to be a *part* of us — now and *forever*. 

"So. *Please*. Tell us what we must *do*." 

"Thank you for sharing that. It is... beyond price," Claudette says, and breathes deep — 

Amina inclines her head as much as she *can* with Treville panting and *snuffling* against her throat — 

Aramis licks his lips — 

And both he and Claudette turn to share a look with him. 

I believe we can be certain of them, Jason says. 

(You *believe*? Or you are *certain*,) Claudette says. 

Jason smiles wryly. I save my absolute faith for my *liege*, ma joie, but... I sense nothing untoward here, and the two of you would be able to sense —

(Yes, we *would*,) Aramis says, reaching up to take Jason's hand and nuzzle it. (I sense nothing but their worry, their agitation, their... need for *us* to be less worried and agitated.) 

(That is what I feel, as well,) Claudette says, and tugs Aramis's hair. (I do not know that I can believe in... such acceptance.) 

(Even though you were ready to believe in it before you remembered that we had not discussed it, my Mother?) 

(There is no fool like a fool in love — and in love with the possibilities inherent *to* love, my tricky boy,) Claudette says, but she's smiling. 

Perhaps — just perhaps — we should soothe ourselves with that love — and the possibilities inherent to same, Jason says. 

(Mm. I would prefer to soothe myself with the possibilities inherent to the fact that, as of now, only the *most* beautiful, charming, and disarming of the three of us is *not* mated to a member of their pack.) 

Jason hums. There are worse things than having werewolves fall at your feet....

Claudette inclines her head to him — and turns to Aramis. (How *do* you feel about the muzzle, my tricky boy?) 

(I am more concerned about the *claws*.) 

Not the *teeth*, mon grand...? No, wait, what am I saying.

Aramis *looks* at him. 

Jason hums and kisses his nose. 

"I!" 

"Yes, we *are* ready," Claudette says, and tugs *sharply* on Aramis's hair — 

"Oh! Yes, my Mother," he says, and rests his head in her lap... 

That is any *number* of wonderful thoughts... 

For later. 

For now, Jason stands, and once again crosses the room — 

And Treville stiffens immediately. His silver-white fur doesn't bristle, and there are no scents of aggression, but...

It's better to pause, at times like these. 

Treville pants against Amina's neck — 

And Amina strokes him, slowly and firmly. "Jason. How else can we prove ourselves to you?" 

"There's nothing else, Amina. The rest of the awkwardness between your pack and my own can *only* be healed with time and shared experience." 

Amina rumbles. "May we have a surfeit of *both*." 

Jason inclines his head. "Agreed." 

Amina smiles warmly, soft lips curving just so. "Old brother. Will you be gentle with my sweet brother?" 

"Precisely as gentle as he needs," Jason says. 

"Then you must always give him a chance to *prove* himself. He will not fail you." 

"I'd very much like the tale of how he came to woo you, sometime." 

"As would we," Claudette says. 

Amina laughs raucously. "He was still *running* from cunt at the time! Even though he *wanted* it!" 

Jason hums. "I *thought* I could hear that between the lines of his tale..." 

Treville whuffs out a laugh — and shifts fully back to human-form. "To be fair —" 

"And if I don't *wish* to be fair...?" And Jason smiles just a little sharply. 

"Well, then, you could keep smiling like *that* while not *touching* me anywhere —" 

Jason laughs hard — 

"But," Treville says, and stands, "To be *fair*," I'd never seen — or smelled — my Amina-love's cunt. Those other cunts just didn't —"

And then Marie-Angelique joins them, leading Kitos and Reynard *and* all seven of the pack's children by the look of them — 

She clears her throat with a kind of *vicious* delicacy — 

She *looks* at Treville — 

And Treville licks his lips nervously. "I had, on the other hand, been in the same room with Marie-Angelique's cunt any number of times by that point —" 

"And *run* from it," Amina says — 

"Like a *whipped* dog," Marie-Angelique says — 

"Despite *wanting* it," Amina says — 

And now the children are laughing and yipping and giggling and even barking, when it comes to the two smallest ones — two toddlers who *must* be Odile and Selene — 

Jason hums — 

And Claudette smiles broadly and releases Aramis. The two stand together, and introductions are made — mostly. 

It is *immediately* obvious... well. 

The two tallest boys — and they *must* be Porthos and Olivier — hang back from the rest of the group with wide, staring eyes *fixed* on Aramis. Their nostrils are flaring *constantly*, they're both *trembling*, and the look they're giving Aramis strongly suggests that they'd like to ask him to please keep wounding them mortally with his beauty. 

Aramis, for his part, is paying attention to the *other* young ones, who have many questions for him, and is giving his other *mates* his *back*. 

(Marie-Angelique suggested I do just this, my Jason.) 

She *did*?

(Amina seconded her!) 

Even though — no, wait, this is supposed to teach them further lessons in *control* and *decorum*. 

(Just so. Mother approves of how ruthless they are!)

So does my *cock*, but... ah... 

(My mate's heart is gentle and kind and warm *always*,) Aramis says, and tilts his chin to allow Thomas easier access to his throat-scents — 

I... hm. 

(You will not argue with me about this.)

No, I will not. 

Aramis nods judiciously and leans in to sniff *Thomas's* throat — 

Jason checks — Olivier and Porthos are now desperately and *impressively* erect under their trousers and panting enough that their tongues are showing — 

(Oh, yes?) 

You may actually cause them to lose consciousness, mon grand. 

(Oh, no, no. Marie-Angelique *and* Amina *and* Thomas *and* Jeannette say that they *both* hate being *rude* so much that they will *have* to introduce themselves to me before they spend themselves mindless and flee. I have faith,) Aramis says, and turns to accept a glass of watered wine from a smiling maid who had introduced herself as Justine. (When will my Jason stop lurking? You do not feel as if you are lonely, but —) 

I'm not. Please don't worry, mon grand. I'm simply not cut out for larger gatherings. In truth, I never have been — even when I was human, I tended to suffer through them until I was *paralytically* drunk. 

(*Oh* —) 

*This* is what I prefer when there is a larger gathering which includes people I love. 

(Watching from the shadows?) 

And having small conversations as the gathering progresses, yes. 

(This, I will remember,) Aramis says. 

(As will I,) Claudette says, and Jason turns — 

She's on one of the couches being paid court to by Reynard and Kitos, who are crouched at her feet. 

Hm. How are they doing?

(Quite well, considering.) 

Yes...? 

(They're funny, charming, warm, intelligent, entirely willing to *listen*...) 

But?

(Before this point, they've both been womanizers — if of a more respectful and honourable breed than the usual. But it's abundantly clear that the women they made love with who were *not* in the pack...) 

Were not *entirely* real to them? 

(Precisely. Still, they've had nearly seventeen years of being educated by and *for* Amina and Marie-Angelique, and the number of *men* I've *fucked* who've been entirely real to *me* is... vanishingly small.) 

Jason smiles. I promise I won't judge you for judging other people anyway. 

Claudette hums. (My love.) 

Ma joie. Are they worth you? 

(You've met them. What do you think?) 

And... that was an honest question. 

(Yes, it was.) 

Claudette... *why* was it an honest question?

(Because a *goddess* has decided that I am best-suited to *mate* with two werewolves I'd never so much as *heard* of before, when I had already been given... so much. *Everything*.) 

Your son.

(And you, my love. Never doubt your value.) 

I... ma joie, if *you* had raised me, I never *would*. 

(And you would have different fixations?) 

No, I suspect they'd be *ultimately* the same... 

Claudette laughs brightly, sweetly, *hard* — 

And the wolves at her feet drink it in hungrily. 

(Oh... I shouldn't thrill for the starvation in their eyes, Jason...) 

Why not? 

(Lust is *easy*. Lust is *cheap*.) 

Ah, yes. My apologies. Still — there is something to be said for lust you *know* will come for who you are, as opposed to for what you *do*. 

(I... want to protest that.) 

You can't. 

(No, I — are they worth me?) 

I don't know enough — about *them*. 

(Damn.) 

However, I feel I most assuredly know enough about *Amina* and *Treville* to say the following things: Treville would be loyal to them — and to this Laurent whom we've yet to meet — to the ends of the earth and beyond for the things they'd done with him and for him before he came into his own as an adult. However, if they were not worthy of *Amina*? If there were things about them — any or all of them — which wounded her, or bruised her, or even just didn't sit *well* with her? 

She would tell Treville, in one way or another. She may have been beaten down to nothing *once*, but *something* built her up again — and it was not *only* Treville — assuming it was him, at *all*. 

Once she *did* tell Treville, he would be torn *apart* by his opposing loyalties. He would not be calm. He would not be able to *think* about his brothers with any degree of happiness — not while he was speaking to Amina, and not while Amina was in the *room*. Wolves don't work that way — and certainly not wolves as passionate as Treville. 

(They... are worthy of Amina. And thus of Marie-Angelique, because Amina would never stand for anything which wounded her sweet sister.) 

Just so. 

Claudette turns to Jason's shadow and smiles, crooked and soft and wanting and hopeful and *young*. 

Yes, ma joie. 

(My love, I will be ever yours.) 

I — 

And then Treville *claps* a hand down on Jason's shoulder — 

"*Gah* —" 

"See, at first I thought the All-Mother had decided that my library needed a doorway into the Abyss." 

"She... doesn't do that? That I know of?" 

"No, not that I know of, either, which is how I realized that I'd tracked you down. *Finally*." 

"I —" 

Treville beetles his brows at Jason in an expression he'd *obviously* stolen from Kitos. 

Jason lets his own expression *quirk* — 

"It's not very friendly to hide from your mate, Jason."

Well. There's that. He licks his lips — 

And Treville immediately *focuses* on Jason's mouth for long moments before looking away. "I promise I actually do have control —" 

"I know you do —" 

"*How*?" 

"I know *wolves*." 

"I want to tear every wolf who's ever knotted you *apart*." 

Jason raises an eyebrow. 

"Unless, of course, you still like them. In which case — in which case..." 

"Yes...?" 

"In which case I can keep my fool mouth shut, that's what," Treville says, and nods judiciously. 

Jason — snorts. 

"I want to make you laugh — all the time." 

"You're good at it." 

Treville licks his lips. "Are you a happy person? You've *smelled* happy since I've met you, but... I don't think so. I think.... nobody who lurks like this has had all that happy a life, in my experience." 

Jason smiles ruefully. "I have *many* curses on me, Treville. I — we weren't thinking. You *won't* be able to kiss me —" 

"I think you'll find that I've figured just a few things out over the years —" 

Jason *coughs* a laugh — 

Treville grins. "But tell me what's wrong? What are the curses on you that an earth-mage can't cleanse you of?" 

"The most *important* one in terms of *this* conversation is that children of the All-Mother — *all* children of the All-Mother, whether or not they're mages — cannot touch my skin without recoiling in atavistic horror and disgust. Not until I've *shared* my curse via the corruption of their *blood*." 

Treville blinks and *immediately* reaches out — 

Jason blocks him with his gloved hand. "Don't." 

"Jason —" 

"I don't. It's hard enough when strangers recoil from my touch, Treville. I truly don't want to see you do it." 

Treville inhales sharply — and then growls and shifts his right thumb-claw before slashing open his left forearm. "Do it. Before I heal." 

"*Treville* —" 

"I'm sure of this. I'm sure of *you*. I *need* you," Treville says, eyes flaring that hot blue. "And we both know that wolves don't go back on their decisions. Or don't we?" 

Jason pants — 

Reaches for Aramis — 

(Yes, my Jason — *oh*. Oh, I smell the blood the way *you* do! You must *take*! You must take it *all*!) 

And Jason can't resist any longer, can't — 

He *grips* Treville's arm — 

*Battens* on the wound like a beast, growling and sucking and *needing* — 

The shadows swallow them *both* — 

Treville is fighting *hard* — 

And Jason is reaching for his spirit even as he shares his perfect flavours with Aramis — 

With Claudette — 

He can *feel* them growing aroused — 

He can feel the *wolves* around them growing *restless* — 

(— *fuck*,) Treville says, and laughs, inside and out as the connections form — 

As the blood binds them tighter and *tighter* — 

He cups the back of Jason's head and *cradles* him against the wound — 

Jason *groans* — 

(Lick me. Lick me... just a little...) 

Jason *nips* him and then does just that — 

(I *sincerely* hope you enjoy getting knotted...) 

Jason slurps and *clenches* — 

(I also sincerely hope that the wolves who knotted you before were bad at it, so I can be the best —) 

Jason snorts blood up his nose — 

(Oh, that sounded unpleasant —) 

Jason coughs and snorts and pulls *back* — "Do you *think* so?" 

Treville grins like the happiest *possible* arsehole. 

"That's an *awful* smile!" 

"You love it, though. I can smell it." 

"You must get punched for that smile *daily*." 

"My Amina-love makes it hourly sometimes —" 

"*Augh* —" 

"So about the people who've knotted you —" 

"They were *very* good at it, and they were all *taller* than you." 

Treville looks stricken — 

Jason snuffles blood back down his *throat* — 

And then Treville pulls on a *determined* face — 

Jason *braces* — 

"Jason..." And Treville growls low, teeth shifting. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, so long, so violently, so *viciously*, that you forget *how* to stop screaming and begging and *crying* for more." 

Shit — no. "Is that the only way you know *how* to fuck, Treville?" 

Treville narrows his eyes. "No, lover. It's just the only way I know how to fuck men like *you*." 

Lover — "Men... like me?"

Treville looks him up and down. "Men who don't know *how* to take anything softer —" 

"I —" 

"Not for themselves." 

Jason — stares. 

Treville raises an eyebrow, daring Jason to demur. 

Just as if they *haven't* seen each other's *souls*. 

Just as if they aren't still *touching* each other's souls. 

Jason licks his lips — and smiles wryly. "The point is yours." 

"I don't want it." 

Jason blinks. "Then...?" 

"Don't be formal with me, Jason. Don't hide. Don't..." Treville shakes his head. "You start playing with me, you start fucking with me like you *will* be mine, and let me be *yours*, and then you back away again." 

"I — it's hard on you." 

Treville frowns — "Is it — I'm moving too fast." 

"It's not that —" 

"No?"

"No. It's that I've gone from having no companionship save the demon sharing my soul and whatever students I could *seduce* into spending time with me — for hundreds of *years* — to having *two* mates, a *family*, *brotherhood* with the demon in question, a *son* with the demon in question —" 

"How...?" 

"*That's* a bit of a tale — " 

"I want to hear it," Treville says, steady and low and earnest. 

Jason — can't help but smile. "There is also you, and your *pack*, Treville. *Amant*. I'm a trifle overwhelmed, and I was lurking today because of *that* — not out of some great pain." 

Treville nods slowly and thoughtfully. "Wolves tend to solve emotional problems by throwing physical contact with as many approved people as possible at them." 

Jason smiles wider. "I've loved that, in the past... to a certain extent." 

"Tell me how I know when you absolutely don't want it — any of it." 

Jason wreathes himself in shadows, much as he had been when Treville had surprised him.

"I... hm. I apologize?" 

Jason pushes the shadows away and smiles again. "You didn't know," he says, and he takes off his gloves before reaching up to cup Treville's face. "And you gave me a very beautiful gift." 

"After rubbing your fur the wrong way — *while* rubbing your fur the wrong way —" 

"Well, you can pet me *better* now —" 

"Let me lick my blood out of your mouth. Please." 

Jason touches Aramis's spirit — 

Finds him deep in conversation with Marie-Angelique about Olivier's *masturbation* habits — 

I.... 

(They are still lurking and staring, my Jason. I believe Amina plans to shift and chase them around the house until they weaken too much to run from me if this does not work.) 

Hm. Well, I suppose the years of night terrors will all be worth it once you deign to allow your delicate skin to brush against theirs. 

Treville snorts *hard* — 

(It is good that you see that my Jason is very droll, Treville...) 

(He's wonderful. I look forward to a lifetime of sharing him with you, son.) 

(My *Jason*, has he *told* you that he wants to fuck you into me?)

Jason *coughs* — 

Treville rumbles — 

(He also wants — Treville, Mother cannot *become* pregnant anymore!) 

(Mm. That's a shame.) 

(My Jason, you must discipline him!) 

Did you have suggestions, mon grand? 

(I'm certainly all ears,) Treville says, and *twitches* his ears — 

(I — ohh...) 

Mm? And Jason looks — "Ah. Your eldest boys have gathered their courage —" 

"And, to be fair, their ability to walk without spending all over themselves," Treville says, and grins at the scene unfolding. 

Porthos, who is, truly, a magnificently large boy even for a werewolf adolescent — he is nearly as tall as Treville despite being only fifteen — is smiling with endearing sheepishness at Aramis, who has just clasped his forearm. 

Olivier, who is of a more average height for a well-made fifteen-year-old, is staring with endearing starvation at Aramis's throat. 

"At this point," Treville says, "I have no idea why you ever *leave* the company of wolves." 

"Etrigan will tell you that I like to suffer." 

"What will *you* tell me?" 

"That Etrigan is an *extremely* wise demon." 

Treville yips a laugh — 

Olivier manages to look *up* from Aramis's throat while they clasp forearms — 

How are they doing, mon grand...?

(The apologies were very good! The musk is... um...) 

Yes...? 

(I...) 

Do tell... 

Aramis licks his lips. 

Slowly. 

And Olivier and Porthos stare fixedly at his mouth while their cocks jerk in their trousers. 

(I believe I will see how long they can remain coherent while still smelling this... tempting, my Jason.) 

Jason laughs hard. Excellent choice. Do keep me informed. 

(Oh, yes! As *you* will keep *me* informed on how well Treville enjoys the taste of himself in your mouth...) 

(Well, that's several wonderful ideas. You've got a fine mind, son.) 

(I thank you!) 

(Treville,) Claudette says, and *looks* at them from across the room, where Kitos has earned a place on the couch — and Claudette's body resting against his own — and Reynard has earned Claudette's stockinged feet in his lap. 

(Yes, Claudette?) 

(Behave around my son... for the time being.) 

Aramis gives Claudette a *hot* and *promising* look — 

Claudette gives it *back* — 

And Treville licks his teeth. (I don't suppose I'm allowed to... look in on how *you* behave around your son?) 

Claudette... purrs, and drags her toes along the inseam of Reynard's trousers. (Who can say.) 

Reynard croons —

Kitos laughs and *squeezes* Claudette — 

Claudette *giggles* — 

And — the younger children are still in the room, running about and playing, occasionally tugging on skirts, or pretending to fence. 

Amina and Marie-Angelique join Claudette, Kitos, and Reynard — 

They're sharing memories of their lives before the pack, and urging Claudette to do the same in ways, perhaps, that the men wouldn't be able to quite manage. 

Treville is giving his attention to the still-*somewhat*-mysterious Laurent, sharing the same information about this gathering that Marie-Angelique had apparently already shared, but doing so from the perspective of a father, and a soldier. 

Laurent is apparently just as hungry for Aramis-the-recruit as he is for the new additions to his pack... and that is a *kind* of pride and warmth Jason had forgotten. 

"We'll teach you again," Treville says, from his side. 

Jason hums. 

Eventually, the only scents of *raw* desperation are coming from Olivier and Porthos, who are sheathed with sweat and *shaking* while Aramis interrogates them. 

Mon grand, you must *never* change.

(I will *not*.)

But all of this, Jason thinks, it's... fascinating. 

"Not quite what you expected?" Treville has his eyebrows up.

"From your pack? I'm not certain what I expected," Jason says. 

"That's probably the best way to go, with us." 

Jason lets Etrigan look out through his eyes for a moment, and then Amis, knowing that it *changes* his eyes from a blood-soaked brown to eldritch flames to roiling black *pits*. 

"I..." 

Jason looks out of his own eyes again and smiles. "It's almost certainly the best way to go with *us*, as well." 

Treville snickers and toasts him — 

They clink glasses — 

Drink — 

And kiss, soft and wet and patient and lazy. 

It's another promise, and Jason will keep it... though almost certainly not until *after* Etrigan has had *his* scheduled time with this body. 

The future is theirs, though. 

All of theirs. 

end.

**Author's Note:**

> Starlight
> 
> Going abruptly into a starry night  
> It is ignorance we blink from, dark, unhoused;  
> There is a gaze of animal delight  
> Before the human vision. Then, aroused  
> To nebulous danger, we may look for easy stars,  
> Orion and the Dipper; but they are not ours,
> 
> These learned fields. Dark and ignorant,  
> Unable to see here what our forebears saw,  
> We keep some fear of random firmament  
> Vestigial in us. And we think, Ah,  
> If I had lived then, when these stories were made up, I  
> Could have found more likely pictures in haphazard sky.
> 
> But this is not so. Indeed, we have proved fools  
> When it comes to myths and images. A few  
> Old bestiaries, pantheons and tools  
> Translated to the heavens years ago—  
> Scales and hunter, goat and horologe—are all  
> That save us when, time and again, our systems fall.
> 
> And what would we do, given a fresh sky  
> And our dearth of image? Our fears, our few beliefs  
> Do not have shapes. They are like that astral way  
> We have called milky, vague stars and star-reefs  
> That were shapeless even to the fecund eye of myth—  
> Surely these are no forms to start a zodiac with.
> 
> To keep the sky free of luxurious shapes  
> Is an occupation for most of us, the mind  
> Free of luxurious thoughts. If we choose to escape,  
> What venial constellations will unwind  
> Around a point of light, and then cannot be found  
> Another night or by another man or from other ground.
> 
> As for me, I would find faces there,  
> Or perhaps one face I have long taken for guide;  
> Far-fetched, maybe, like Cygnus, but as fair,  
> And a constellation anyone could read  
> Once it was pointed out; an enlightenment of night,  
> The way the pronoun you will turn dark verses bright.
> 
> \-- William Meredith
> 
> Extra double super ultra thanks to Houndstar for finding me this poem!


End file.
